


Sea Drift

by profdanglais



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, Divergent Timelines, Eventual Captain Swan, F/M, changes to ages and the timeline, not necessarily canon post-S3, slightly anti-Liam, some smut, some violence, very pro-Killian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-05-21 10:29:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 43,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14913686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profdanglais/pseuds/profdanglais
Summary: A series of loosely related events from the life of Killian Jones, both pre- and post-Hook. Chronicles his descent into darkness, and how he drags himself back to the light. Captain Swan is there, but not in every chapter. Jump to Chapter 5 if that's your thing :)Beginning sort of with Chapter 5, but really in 6 is an S3 AU where Pan doesn't cast the second curse.Compliant with canon up through S3, largely ignores S5 and S6 retconning him into oblivion. Some events from S5 included, but ages and timelines changed. This is mostly an attempt to bring some sense and logic to the life story of my favourite OUAT character. If you're a fan of Killian, I hope you will like it!





	1. Pirate Captain Jones

Looking back, it occurred to Killian Jones that perhaps it should have been more alarming how he took so naturally to piracy.

It hadn’t exactly been a mature, considered career move. He had been trained as a naval officer—meticulously moulded for years by the Royal Naval Academy, years taken up completely by the study of those subjects that were considered indispensable for a man of that status: languages and mathematics, astronomy and navigation, sword fighting and battle strategy, literature and dancing, even penmanship. He had embraced it wholeheartedly. After six gruelling years of indenture, during which he had become practiced in the functional details of life on the sea but had had little time to appreciate its joys, the structure and stimulation of the Academy soothed and nurtured him. He had excelled academically, absorbing knowledge like a sponge, a curious and charismatic boy who challenged his instructors to challenge him, and by the time he graduated at the age of 18, he was fluent in seven languages, an extraordinarily skilled navigator and swordsman, and the smoothest dancer in his year.

After the catastrophic error in judgement that had cost him and Liam their life savings and their chance at freedom, he had sworn off alcohol and gambling in any form. He rose early every morning, kept his quarters meticulously tidy, followed every rule and obeyed every order, and if during this period of model behaviour he occasionally felt an itch between his shoulder blades, a whisper in a dark corner of his mind that this ordered existence was stifling, that his superiors were fools, that the only judgement worthy to be relied upon was his own, he stamped it out, ruthlessly. Any inclination he may have had to insubordination or insurrection was quashed by the wariness he could still perceive in Liam’s manner towards him, as though his brother were waiting for him to slip up again, to let his weakness get the better of him. So Killian set his jaw and toed the line, and proved himself not just the equal but the better of every other cadet in the Academy. Determination and single-minded pursuit of his goals had always been fundamental to his character.

Years later, Milah had scoffed at his interpretation of the events on Silver’s ship that terrible night.

“You were a child, my love,” she had insisted, smoothing his hair away from his forehead. “Those men took advantage of you.”

“I was weak—“

“No, you were trusting. That’s very different. It’s not weak to trust people.”

“I trust you,” Killian had replied, leaning in to kiss her. “Up to a point.”

“As you should,” Milah had retorted. “But you should trust yourself more. You’re the strongest man I’ve ever known, Killian.”

“And how many men have you known, love?”

“Enough.”

Eventually, Killian had swung round to Milah’s point of view. Despite his tendency when in certain moods to judge himself harshly and exaggerate his defects in his own mind, he was also intelligent and perceptive enough to see that he was a strong man, confident and decisive, whom other men looked to for leadership. He owed those men his best and he owed himself the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he had been weak, once, but he had conquered that weakness, learned to handle his drink and his dice rather than allow them to handle him, and most importantly learned to trust himself and his judgement. He may have slipped up in the past, but in the here-and-now he was rarely wrong. He trusted his gut and his brains, and to a lesser extent the loyalty of his crew, and the combination had brought wealth and renown to them all. Killian may not have trained to be a pirate, but he was a damned good one.

He could have used a hint regarding that future of pirating success, he reflected, when he had stood on the precipice of the decision that had set his feet on the path away from “promising young naval officer” and towards “scourge of the seven seas”. Despite the fierce anger simmering in his chest and the crushing despair he was trying desperately to fight off, despite the certainty of the knowledge that his king was corrupt and had to be stopped, as he had sat alone in the Captain’s quarters on the _Jewel of the Realm_ , preparing to go up on deck for Liam’s funeral, a part of him still wanted to be a good boy, to take the ship home and await his next orders. To behave honourably…

“Where’s the honour in working for a corrupt king?” the voice from his mind’s darkest corner hissed at him. “Where’s the honour in fighting wars using ungodly weapons? Where’s the honour in obeying those old fools at the Admiralty? Half of them haven’t set foot aboard a vessel in twenty years. What the devil do any of them know of honour?”

“But to turn against them all,” Killian’s rational mind protested to the dark voice, “Is that not rather extreme? Surely there must be a way to reason …”

“They sent you to that wretched island on an evil mission, under the pretext of patriotism. Your brother is dead, because of them. There can be no reasoning with such men as are capable of these deeds.”

“But who am I to stand against them?” Killian himself protested.

“You are Killian bloody Jones, the finest naval cadet of the past century, and the only officer on this ship who had the sense to question appearances and orders when they didn’t seem right,” the dark voice retorted. “Who the hell else could stand against them?”

“Someone stronger, someone more…”

“There is no one stronger,” said the dark voice, in a tone of finality. “It’s you or nobody at all. If you do nothing then nothing will be done and Liam will have died in vain.”

And in the end, Killian had decided that he could endure anything except an unredressed injustice. He had squared his young shoulders, marched onto the deck, and made the speech that changed his life forever.

He didn’t look back for over two hundred years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's my altered timeline for Killian's life (and Liam's):
> 
> Sold by father: Killian age 6, Liam age 12  
> Indenture: Killian age 6-12, Liam age 12-18  
> Naval Academy: Killian age 12-18 (Liam bypasses the academy and joins the navy age 18 as an ensign)  
> Joins the Jewel of the Realm: age 19 (for each of them)  
> Journey to Neverland: Killian age 20, Liam age 26  
> Liam dies age 26, 20 year old Killian goes pirate  
> Pirate Captain Jones: Killian age 20-32  
> With Milah: Killian age 26-32  
> In and out of Neverland ~230 years  
> Cursed 28 years  
> Meets Emma: Killian age 290-ish


	2. The First Take

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pirate Captain Jones takes his first ship

As his life stretched on many decades past the point it could reasonably have been expected to end, even for someone who lived a far less dangerous life than he, Killian found that great lengths of time blurred together in his memory. Mostly, it was the time spent in Neverland, where time itself was unreliable and every so often Killian had needed to engineer an excuse to go on an excursion to the outside world for Pan, or to spend some of the _Jolly Roger_ ’ _s_ precious store of magic to escape briefly to another realm, just to get his bearings and learn how much time had passed while he was fending off pixies and mermaids and Lost Boys, and researching the properties of dreamshade. Those adventures not only kept him and his crew grounded, but also relieved their tension, replenished their coffers, and perhaps most importantly, kept their reputation alive. It almost made Neverland worthwhile, Killian reflected, the benefit that seemingly eternal youth had brought to his dastardly pirate credentials. What could be more terrifying than a pirate ship appearing from nowhere to wreck and pillage for a month or two before disappearing into thin air, not to be seen again for another ten or twenty years? Even more chilling when the captain and crew of said pirate ship failed to age so much as a day in all that time? Reputation, as Killian well knew, was more than half the battle in piracy. It was far easier to take a ship when its crew was crippled by fear and half ready to surrender just to avoid the terrors that their minds conjured when they learned who it was attacking their vessel. Far less effort for him, and less bloodshed for them. Not that Killian minded bloodshed, as such. He was more than capable of bloody violence, even cruelty if it was necessary to protect himself and his crew. Yet the voice of calm rationality that still persisted in his head pointed out that it was wasteful to kill people who might be useful, when you could intimidate them instead. Wasteful, and bad form. Killian was never entirely sure who that voice was trying to help, but he saw its point and he crafted his reputation accordingly.

One memory that never blurred into obscurity as so many others had, even after his lifespan had ticked past the two century mark, was that of the first ship he had ever captured as the pirate Captain Jones of the _Jolly Roger._ It had been a mere three days since his speech at Liam’s funeral, when he had burnt the Pegasus sail and thrown his uniform coat overboard. Long enough to find a port where they could restock the ship, paint out the “Jewel of the Realm”, and find themselves some clothing more befitting their new purpose.

Not nearly long enough for his fury and anguish to even begin to abate.

As they sailed away from that port, he had felt free for the first time in his life. Free from abusive ship captains, free from strict naval regulations, even free (whispered the dark voice) from his brother’s censure. It was exhilarating. For a moment, it was terrifying. What the hell did he think he was _doing_? But then Killian reached inside himself and seized his anger and with it, his purpose. He cast his eyes over his crew, still not quite looking the part of terrifying pirates, but at least less like Navy men gone AWOL. He himself was still dressed mostly in his uniform, though he had acquired some tooled leather boots with a pointed toe and a brightly embroidered waistcoat of which he was already inordinately fond. Also, he had pierced his ear. It was still sore, and slightly itchy, and he resisted the urge to reach up and scratch it.

What he really needed, he decided, was a good coat. But that would have to wait.

Amongst Liam's belongings in the Captain's quarters was the deployment roster for all the kingdom’s active ships, and after studying it thoroughly the night before, Killian had chosen his most likely target. The frigate ironically named the _King’s Honour_ was scheduled to pass by the little port that evening. It was too good an opportunity to miss. In fact, the name of the ship was rather excessively on-the-nose, in Killian’s opinion, but that would not lessen the impact of his strike. The king had destroyed his honour in principle, and now Killian would destroy a symbol of it in fact. His heart beat faster at the prospect, and as the frigate's sails came into view, the exhilaration stamped out the last dregs of the terror, and Captain Jones was ready.

“You know what to do, men,” he shouted to his crew. “Stay steadfast and follow me, and we shall prevail!”

Their cheers rang in his ears as he braced himself on the quarterdeck and prepared for battle.

The _King’s Honour_ was wholly unprepared for the attack. After a cursory glance through his spyglass at the _Jolly Roger_ , her lieutenant had dismissed the other ship as one of their own, off course, but there were reasons enough to explain that. He had just turned to his captain to speculate what those reasons might be when the quarterdeck exploded in cannon fire. The lieutenant was thrown back against the ship’s rail, and he lay there for a moment, registering a searing pain in his leg and trying to recover his bearings. He could see the captain slumped against the wreckage of the ship’s wheel, a bleeding gash on his head and his eyes staring sightlessly.

“They knew just where to hit us,” thought the lieutenant. “Naturally they did. But why…?”

His speculation was cut short by another burst of fire from the other ship. Dragging himself across the smoking quarterdeck, the lieutenant took out his spyglass again and trained it on the attacking vessel. He noticed now, too late, that her crew was dressed not in the blue coats of the kingdom’s navy, but in an assortment of colourful attire, with a few unconvincing eyepatches and headscarves. They looked like a comedy troupe, yet there was nothing funny about their attack. It was textbook perfect, and the lieutenant scanned the deck in search of the man responsible. When he located him, barking orders and preparing what appeared to be a boarding party, he could hardly believe his eyes.

“Killian?” he gasped. “What the very devil…”

Before the lieutenant could collect his scattered thoughts, the attacking ship hove around with stunning speed and came up alongside the _King’s Honour_. The boarding party leapt onto the deck, cutlasses drawn, and began subduing what remained of her crew. The lieutenant heard booted feet climb the steps to the quarterdeck and he looked up to behold a nightmare version of Killian Jones. Gone was the upright, model cadet who had left them all in his dust come exam time. In his place was a man with a wicked smirk and a _swagger_ , dressed in tall black boots and a red waistcoat, earring glinting in the setting sun and eyes rimmed in kohl.

“Hello, George,” said the nightmare, jovially. “Fancy meeting you here. I heard you were assigned to a flagship.”

“K-killian?” croaked George. “What— what are you—“

“What am I doing here? Well you might ask,” said Nightmare Killian, still in that awful jovial tone. “It’s rather a long story, mate. Suffice to say, I’ve found that I can no longer support the dishonourable activities of the Admiralty and the kingdom. I’ve taken my ship —you remember the _Jewel of the Realm_ , don’t you George? Bloody beautiful lady she is, made of enchanted wood, henceforth to be known as the _Jolly Roger_ — I’ve taken her and with her I mean to wage bloody warfare upon this kingdom and its navy, until they lie before me a smoking ruin or sunk to the bottom of the sea.”

Fear gripped George’s heart, and he recoiled from the venom in his old classmate’s voice, and from the fury that blazed from his blue eyes. He barely stopped himself from scrabbling backwards away from Killian’s reach as the other man crouched down to meet his eyes.

“Therefore the question that now presents itself, George my lad, is will you die with your crew… or will you join mine?”

“J-join you?”

“Aye. The more officers that stand against the kingdom, the better. And I could use a first mate.”

George Hinds had not thought much of Killian Jones during their days as cadets in the Royal Naval Academy. Killian was a swot, and a prig, and worse than that, he was _no fun_ , what with his unswerving moral compass and disdain for the typical amusements of young Navy men released into the town after a long week of protocol and study. This nightmare Killian, however, seemed like he might be prepared to cut up rather lively, and part of George wanted to witness that extraordinary event. And yet…

“I-“ he cleared his throat “I cannot abandon my crew. I’m sorry, Killian.”

“As am I, mate.” For a moment Killian’s eyes seemed to hold a hint of regret. “I never liked you much, if I’m honest, George. You’re a bit of a useless git, in fact. But that’s a courageous stance to take, in light of—” he gestured to the deck below, where the pirate crew, no longer appearing in any way comical, had handily dispatched the Navy men, leaving only one survivor “—all of this. Therefore, I have decided not to kill you.”

George failed to restrain his sigh of relief, and Killian’s smirk took on an edge of menace.

“I won’t kill you, mate, but in the end you may wish I had. I’m sending you back to the Admiralty, with your man here,” he indicated the lone survivor on the lower deck, “and with a message. Tell them what you have witnessed here today. Tell them that I have their fastest ship and their most capable crew. Remind them that I know all their strategies, all their battle plans, exactly where they’ll be and when, and how to take them down. Assure them that even if they try to regroup, to redraw their plans, I know how they think and I will be ready for them. They cannot escape me, and my wrath will rain down destruction upon their heads. Tell them that, George, then pray to any gods you may believe in that they don’t take it out on the messenger. Not everyone looks kindly on a survivor.”

George gasped, appalled at the force of the fury radiating from the man he’d once dismissed as dull company.

“Why— why are you doing this, Killian?”

“They’ll know why. Tell them they know what they did. Tell them my brother Liam is dead, and they bloody well know why and how he died. Can you do that for me, George?”

The charm in Killian’s smile chilled George to the marrow of his bones. He took a deep breath, and nodded. The Admiralty needed to know of this, whatever consequences he may face for bearing the news. Killian Jones was a danger greater than any they had faced before.

“Aye, Killian, I’ll tell them.”

“There’s a good lad,” said Killian cheerfully, clapping George on the shoulder and extending a hand to help pull him to his feet. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind stepping into the lifeboat and being on your way, so my men can torch your ship? Mind how you go, you appear to have a badly broken leg.”

As Killian stood on the Jolly’s quarterdeck, watching George and his crewman row away in their small lifeboat, illuminated by the flaming wreckage of their ship, he wondered if he should be feeling guilty. George Hinds was a prat, as even his closest friends would be hard pressed to refute, but he didn’t deserve to be the Admiralty’s whipping boy when he conveyed Killian’s message to them. There was no doubt he would be. As Killian and George both knew, the Royal Navy did not look with a benevolent eye upon those who escaped from a losing battle. “Go down with the ship” was their motto, and woe betide the sailor who failed to live up to it.

Yet Killian felt no guilt at all. Whatever faint wisp of conscience he may have had about sending poor George into the lion’s den was consumed by the inferno of his fury. George Hinds was merely the first casualty of Killian’s war against his former kingdom, he would certainly not be the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I should probably clarify that Killian does not hear voices in his head. The dark and the rational voices I refer to are like the ones we all have when we argue with ourselves.
> 
> Headcanon for the nature of Neverland and the Jolly Roger: 
> 
> The Jolly is made of enchanted wood, giving her something akin to personality/sentience. She also has magic that allows her to travel realms, though only temporarily. Once she has enough magic stored, Killian can use it to escape Neverland without needing Pan's assistance, however this magic is limited and once it runs out, the Jolly is pulled back to the realm she left, hence this is not a long-term solution for escape. Also, Neverland initially has other islands with other kinds of creatures on them, including people and towns and other ships, giving Killian and his crew something to do for 230 years other than sail in circles around one island. Gradually, as the magic leaves Neverland, these lands disappear, leaving only the dark island we see in S3.


	3. Armed With Nothing But My Good Looks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian's first dalliance. There is sex here, though not excessively explicit.

Killian was all of 18 before he realised he was handsome. Until then, he hadn’t had much opportunity to consider his face, or much context to help him evaluate it if he had. Any time he caught a glimpse of himself in a reflective surface on Silver’s ship, all he saw was a tired, overworked child, his sunken eyes too big for his small, gaunt face. There was a proper mirror in his quarters at the Academy, of course, but looking into it Killian had only been concerned with ensuring that he was clean and tidy. Crucially, there were no women anywhere at the Academy, only the other cadets and the instructors, all men and all constrained by the air of strictly enforced and highly traditional masculinity that the Navy seemed to feel was essential, and so one ever remarked on his appearance, whether they noticed it or not.

So it wasn’t until his time at the Academy was nearly complete and he finally allowed himself to be dragged out on the town by one of the few friends he had among the other cadets that Killian discovered the powerful appeal of his face.

The tavern was large and well-maintained, with light and noise spilling out of it. He stood in the doorway, reluctant to enter, until Robert took him by the arm and hauled him in.

“I won’t drink,” said Killian firmly.

“I’m aware of that, of course,” rejoined his friend. “Not to worry. They do a mean goat’s milk here.”

Killian chuckled and allowed himself to be led to the bar. On the way they passed by a table overflowing with sailors and cadets, enjoying a raucous game of dice. Killian shuddered as he recognised it as the same game he had played to his ruin on Silver’s ship. Resolutely, he ignored the dark voice in his mind when it pointed out how here in the warm tavern with other lads his age, the game looked like fun.

Some time later, as he sat with Robert, sipping at a mug of tea (the goat’s milk was a joke between him and Robert—Killian detested the vile stuff) and watching his friend fleece some merchant sailors at cards, he happened to glance up and caught the interested gaze of a young woman, not much older than himself. She was dressed as a bar wench, in a corset and full skirt, her dark hair curling around her oval face and her brown eyes meeting his boldly. She was gorgeous. Despite having had no alcohol, Killian felt light and almost giddy. He felt quite unlike himself, in fact. He was sitting in a tavern, with a tankard in front of him, watching gambling, fully in control of himself, and now a beautiful girl was looking at him with unmistakable interest. Killian felt his face break into a slow grin. The girl’s eyes widened and she appeared to draw in a sharp breath. Killian’s smile grew broader.

The girl pushed away from the wall she had been leaning against and sauntered over to him, sitting next to him on the bench and angling her body so that only he could hear her when she spoke.

“What are you lads playing?” she whispered in his ear.

“I— I’m not playing anything,” Killian felt his smile falter now she was so near. He swallowed and pulled himself together. “I’m merely a spectator.”

“So I see,” she replied, her voice husky. “Why haven’t ye joined in?”

“I’m not much of a gambler.”

“Is that so? What are ye much of, then?”

Killian wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “I’m a cadet at the Royal Naval Academy.”

Amusement glinted in her dark eyes. “Yes, I can tell by the uniform,” she remarked drily. “Is that all ye are?”

Killian was again at a loss. “Well, at the moment, yes. I haven’t time to be anything else. Not if I’m to be a captain of my own ship someday.”

Her lips quirked into a smile, half amused, half almost predatory. “A captain, eh? ’Tis a lofty goal indeed.” Her hand, which he now realised had been resting on his knee, began to move slowly up his thigh. He tried to catch his breath. “But surely to be a captain, a man needs a wide range of … experiences,” she whispered this last word into his ear.

“Er, yes, well, he does,” stuttered Killian, trying not to notice the unsettling direction her hand was pursuing. ‘He, uh, he acquires these on the sea, first as an ensign, then … uh… as a …uh… a lieutenant…”

“Oh, certainly,” she purred in his ear. “But I can promise ye, lad, that captains —the best ones— acquire many valuable experiences on land as well. Perhaps I might show ye what I mean… upstairs.” She drew back enough to meet his eyes again, and make her meaning clear.

Killian’s head was spinning. His rational mind attempted to remind him that he was only here to keep Robert company, and that abandoning his friend to take the young woman up on her alarming offer would run directly contrary to that purpose. But Robert was engrossed in his game, and hardly noticed Killian.

“Go on,” the voice from the dark corner of his mind encouraged, “what harm can it do? As she said, it would be a valuable experience. Don’t pretend you’ve never wondered about such things.” Indeed he had, Killian reflected, and though he’d always sneered at the weakness of the other cadets in their almost frantic pursuit of sex, deep down he’d envied them. He waited for his rational mind to weigh in, but it didn’t seem to have an opinion.

“Experiences are valuable,” it remarked finally.

“So be it,” thought Killian.

Gathering his courage, and reaching for the sense of calm control he’d had just moments before, Killian plucked the young woman’s hand from his thigh and placed a light kiss on her knuckles before gazing up at her through his lashes. “It would be my honour, madam,” he said, attempting to match her sultry tone.

Her breath caught for a second time, and her smooth composure slipped, allowing a flash of genuine lust to flit across her face before the mask returned. “Follow me, then,” she replied in a voice even huskier than it had been a moment ago.

She led him to a small room tucked away in a corner of the upper floor. It was barely big enough for a bed and a small table, but Killian reflected that it didn’t really require much else. It was clean and dry, and there was a small fire in a tiny stove in the corner.

Taking his hand, the young woman led him to the bed. “I assume ye know how this works?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

“I am aware of the general mechanics,” he replied, raising his own right back at her. The lustful look flickered in her eyes once again.

“Well then,” she purred, running her hands up his chest to his cravat, which she proceeded to untie and toss onto the floor. “Let’s see how skilled a mechanic ye can be, lad.”

Killian’s hands seemed to move of their own accord, his mind almost entirely taken over by the dark voice from the corner, though even the rational part had to admit that it was enjoying itself. They slid up the young woman’s waist to gently cup her breasts, undoing the ties of her corset and loosening the laces with deft twists of his fingers that he had no idea how he managed to pull off. “First I’ll need a better look at the machinery that requires my attention,” he replied in a voice he barely recognised as his own.

She wore a thin chemise under the corset, and as he lifted it away to reveal her bare breasts, his head was spinning so frantically that he was astonished he was able to remain upright. Even the dark voice from the corner of his mind had nothing to say. Killian swallowed hard and let his instincts take over. He brushed his thumbs across her nipples, and then, encouraged by her sharp, involuntary gasp —she seemed to do that a lot—, followed them with his mouth. He licked the nipple, grazed it with his teeth, then sucked it gently. With his other hand he cupped her other breast, rolling its nipple lightly between his thumb and forefinger. Gazing up at her through his lashes again, he saw that the mask had fallen away entirely and the heat in her eyes filled him with fire. His trousers had grown uncomfortably tight.

“At least you’ll have no difficulty performing your first time,” chortled the dark voice, which seemed to have recovered its composure. “Just be sure you don’t race to the finish line, as it were.”

The young woman had made quick work of Killian’s vest and shirt, and had undone the fastenings of his trousers. Leaning back on the bed, she lifted her skirts and reached up to beckon him. Killian, however, intended to heed the dark voice’s warning.

“No, not yet,” he growled. “I want to see you. All of you.” Leaning over the bed, he ran his hands over her breasts and down her belly to the fastenings of her skirt. They came undone easily, and he slid the skirt off her hips, tossing it to the floor. She wore no knickers, but her coarse linen stockings were held up by garters cinched tightly around her upper thighs. Killian had a momentary sense of being overwhelmed by bare skin and curling dark hair, and sultry scents that were as intoxicating as they were alarming, but fortunately his instincts seemed to know what to do, so again he gave them free rein. Leaning forward, he breathed lightly over her skin, down her belly and over the dark curls beneath it, then along her inner thigh. He hovered for a moment above the garter, before pulling the tie open with his teeth. She made a sound halfway between a gasp and a moan, and he touched his tongue to her skin, soothing the red mark left by the garter. This time, she did moan, reaching down to tangle her fingers in his hair and encourage him towards the dark curls at her centre. But Killian was not to be rushed. He wrapped his arm around her leg, sliding off her stocking and kissing along her inner thigh before shifting his attention to her other garter and giving it the same treatment. She was moaning in earnest now, her breath coming in short pants as he kissed his way up her leg, stopping to blow gently on the curls nestled at its apex.

“This appears to be a crucial bit of machinery,” he remarked, astonished and impressed when his voice came out clear and unwavering. “Perhaps I should investigate it more closely.”

“Oh, yes,” she cried, “yes, yes…”

Killian was not at all certain of what lay beneath the curls or what he was meant to do with it, but he reasoned that he’d had success with his mouth up to this point, so he may as well continue in that vein. He parted her folds gently and stroked his fingers up through them. Noticing her involuntary twitch as he caressed a small nub near the top, he leaned down and kissed it, running his tongue lightly along its contours. She tasted musky and slightly salty, and he found he loved it. Her hips bucked, and she moaned loudly, and twisted her fingers more tightly in his hair.

“Aha,” thought Killian, “I seem to be on to something.” He licked the nub again, more firmly this time, running his tongue back and forth along it, and sucking gently. Her hips began to pump under his mouth, faster and faster until he could barely hang on. Finally she yanked his head away and pulled him upwards.

“I want you,” she panted, her eyes hot and heavy-lidded. “I want you right now.”

Killian rather thought she already had him, but he didn’t argue when she yanked his trousers down, her eyes never leaving his, and took hold of his cock. Her eyes widened as she grasped it, and she looked down, mouth dropping open.

“What is it?” asked Killian, his newfound confidence slipping slightly. “What’s wrong?”

She chucked briefly, and shook her head. “Nothing,” she replied, amusement and something else he couldn’t identify in her tone. “Nothing’s wrong. You’re just…”

“What?” Killian grasped her chin and tilted her head up to meet his eyes. “What am I, love?”

“You’re… unfair,” she said finally. “You are really not fair.”

“What does that mea—” Before he could finish his thought, she had taken his cock again and begun running her hand along its length, pausing with each stroke to swirl her thumb around the tip. Now it was his turn to moan and twitch, and with a satisfied smile she guided him down between her legs and positioned him at her entrance.

“I’m sure ye can take it from here,” she whispered.

Killian didn’t wholly share her confidence, but his instincts hadn’t let him down yet, so he ceded control to them once again. He pushed slowly into her, and she hummed with pleasure. She felt amazing, hot and soft and wet, and he seriously considered staying there forever. But his instincts were urging him on, and so he pulled back and plunged into her again, harder this time.

“That’s it,” she moaned in his ear “Just like that. Harder, though… harder…”

“Harder, you say?” he growled, grabbing her hips and tilting them upwards so he could thrust more fully into her. “Like this?”

“Oh, gods, yes, like that!”

Killian couldn’t think any more, the sensations were too overwhelming. He thrust into her again and again, as hard as he was able, clutching with one hand the small window ledge above the bed for leverage. He was vaguely aware of the bed frame slamming against the wall, of the throaty noises the girl was making, and of his own answering moans, but mostly he was lost in heat and wetness and delicious friction. He felt the girl’s body tense, felt her fingers digging into his arse, encouraging him, then she gave a gasping cry and hecould feel her clench and quiver around him.

“Now you,” she whispered in his ear, grasping the lobe between her teeth and biting gently. “Come for me now.” She tensed her inner walls just as he thrust deep, and Killian’s senses were flooded with ecstasy and release. He cried out, his whole body clenching, before collapsing on the bed with his face in the curve of the girl’s neck.

He lay there for what felt like a century (he hadn’t truly known what a century felt like back then) before gathering his remaining energy and lifting himself off the girl. He looked down at her and she met his gaze, her eyes as dazed and glassy as he suspected his must be. After several long moments, Killian spoke.

“What’s your name?”

She looked surprised. “Tara,” she replied.

“Tara,” he repeated. “It has been a pleasure to, ah, know you. I’m Killian.”

She smiled, the first genuine smile she had given him. “Killian,” she repeated. “You are definitely unfair.”

“How so, love?”

“No one should be so handsome as you whilst also being charming, and a demon in bed,” she replied. “Leave something for the other blokes, could ye?”

“He felt his face breaking into a grin. “You find me handsome?”

“Get on with ye,” she scoffed. “‘Course you’re handsome. Ye must know that.”

“Truthfully, I’ve never given it much thought."

“Cor, you are a one,” she shook her head. “Don’t they have mirrors at the Royal Naval Academy?”

“Naturally, we do. But they are mostly there to ensure we don’t miss a spot shaving.”

Tara reached up and stroked his face. “Well then here’s a bit of knowledge for ye, Killian, and I’ll tell it ye for free. Yours is the handsomest face I have ever laid me eyes on, and I pray to the gods ye may never learn to wield it. It could buy ye nearly anything, that face.”

Killian cleared his throat, feeling suddenly awkward, his sense of calm assurance falling away under her extravagant praise. “Yes, er, well,” he nearly babbled. “I, uh, speaking of things that are free, I assume this evening’s activities are, well, not? I mean, not to be rude, but I don’t know the protocol?” He hated being so abrupt, but suddenly all he wanted was to get away from the little room and go home.

Tara laughed and let her hand slide down to his chest. “On the house, darling,” she replied. “I couldn’t possibly charge ye for such a romp as that. Get on with ye now, lad.”

Killian rose and dressed hurriedly, surreptitiously leaving a handful of coins on the small table beside the bed. Fine romp or no, it would be bad form to leave her out of pocket because of him. He went downstairs to find Robert leaning against the bar, waiting for him.

“Well, Jones, I’d ask where you’ve been except it’s completely bleeding obvious,” he crowed. “We could feel the bed shake clear down here.” Killian felt a blush spreading across his face, and wondered briefly why he hadn’t blushed once during his encounter with Tara. His easy blush was a bit of a curse for him.

“I— don’t really know what to say to that,” he said.

“Well, normally what _I’d_ say is can I buy the conquering hero a drink, but knowing you, I’ll just clap you on the back and suggest we take our leave, before what remains of Tara can carry tales of your exploits to the other wenches. I’d rather not find myself in the midst of a wench mob.”

Suddenly self-conscious and uncomfortably aware of the stares he was receiving from the other patrons and wenches, Killian was eager to agree.

Before he went to bed that evening —early the next morning, in fact— Killian stood before the small mirror in his quarters and examined his face. Six years of plain but nourishing food had drawn the gauntness from his cheeks and the sunken aspect from his eyes. Eyes that were rather a nice shade of blue, now he thought about it. His nose was straight, if rather long, his cheekbones were high and sharp, his jaw was strong and well-defined, and the hint of stubble that darkened it gave him a rakish air. Killian considered the faces that he saw on other men, then raised his eyebrow at his own. “Damned if Tara wasn’t right,” he thought to himself. “I am rather handsome.”

He wondered briefly if he should be concerned by how pleased the notion made him, but he was too tired to give it much thought, so he tumbled into bed and fell asleep. The last thing that went through his mind as he drifted off were Tara’s words: “It could buy ye nearly anything, that face.” The dark corner of his mind filed that useful tidbit away for later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of people like blushing Lieutenant Duckling, but I prefer the idea that Killian is a natural at sex.


	4. How The Captain Got His Coat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian is beginning to truly embrace the pirate life, and now he needs to look the part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who commented and left kudos! This is my first fic, and I was super nervous about posting it, so it's really lovely to see that people are actually reading and enjoying it!
> 
> This chapter contains descriptions of violence, so be forewarned!

Killian opted to take his time in destroying the kingdom’s navy. After the _King’s Honour_ , to ensure that the Admiralty took seriously the threats he had conveyed via the hapless George Hinds, he quickly took two more mid-sized frigates and, thrillingly, a large ship of the line. Having made his point, he then decided to take a bit of a break. He would freely admit that this was largely due to his desire to draw out his enemies’ suffering, knowing that the fear and anxiety of waiting to see where he would strike next, the helplessness of knowing there was little they could do to hinder him, would hurt them nearly as much as the actual strikes. However there was a more practical aspect to it as well: he needed to properly pirate-ise his crew.

The _Jolly Roger_ ’s crew was as fine a collection of sailors as Killian could ever hope to command, hardworking and loyal, and exceptionally skilled. The Royal Navy had wished its finest ship —the finest ever built, they boasted— to be matched by the finest crew ever assembled, and Killian was pleased to reap the rewards of the Navy’s hubris. He had been fortunate as well that the crew’s loyalty to him and to Liam had been strong enough to leave them no qualms about turning against their navy and their king to avenge their former captain and bring down those responsible for his death. They were as appalled by dreamshade and the king's vile plans for it as Killian was. Consequently, they took to piracy with conviction, and if their approach to it was occasionally somewhat unorthodox, certainly no one could fault their enthusiasm. 

And yet, life on the wrong side of the law does take some getting used to, especially for people who had previously lived more or less honest lives. As sailors they were naturally accustomed to a bit of drunkenness, a fair amount of foul language, and the odd spot of senseless violence, but pirate culture proved to be an altogether different kettle of fish, shocking them by both the frequency and the magnitude with which these familiar events occurred. The crew had so far managed well enough in regular ports, where they encountered a mix of merchant seamen and naval crews as well as “privateers”, as they preferred to be called whilst mixing with the law-abiding, but the first time they stepped foot in a pirate port, where criminals hardened by years of long sea voyages and unchecked debauchery felt at liberty to kick up their heels and really let loose with the worst of themselves, the Jolly _’_ s crew stood out like nuns in a whorehouse. 

Watching them creep tentatively into Tortuga, their faces as mask-like as they could manage but with their discomfort clearly evident in their eyes, Killian realised that they were all going to have to make some adjustments if they wished to survive in this life he had chosen for them. Himself included. Killian was still just twenty years old, and although he had lived a more trying life than most men his age, in Tortuga he discovered that there were still things that could shock him. Many, many things. 

Eventually, Killian knew, both he and his crew would grow inured to the things that now appalled them, life experience and human nature would see to that. In the meantime, they would just have to fake it, and he first logical step in that direction was to find a way to present a more appropriately piratey appearance. They’d done their best with what was available at the small port they’d stopped at before the attack on the _King’s Honour_ , but truthfully they hadn’t really known what they needed. Perhaps in this, the largest of the pirate ports, his men could obtain some more convincing garb to help them blend in and bolster their spirits. And he, well, he could finally see about getting that good coat he’d been promising himself. Perhaps a new vest, as well… Killian felt his spirits rise. 

He glanced again at his crew. They were still looking manifestly out of place, like a handful of sore thumbs in a tea shop.  Killian sighed. His coat would have to wait. What he needed most right now was for his men not to get themselves killed. In this town, to stand out was to paint a target on your back.

He took a deep breath and strode over to them. 

“Look lively, mates!” he said heartily, clapping Bronson, the quartermaster, on the shoulder. Lowering his voice, he added “At least try not to look so bloody conspicuous, creeping about in a huddled group. You’re like cadets at a review.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” said Benny the gunner, “But, well, y’see sir, it’s all a bit—”

“Indeed it is,” said Killian, “I know. But mates, we need to blend in. Drawing attention to ourselves will just invite trouble. You’re bloodthirsty cutthroats, remember? You could try to seem just a bit dangerous.”

There was a chorus of halfhearted “ayes”.

“Look here,” said Killian, removing a large purse from his belt and distributing its contents among them. “All of you go off, spread out, groups of no more than two or three, and find yourselves some new clothes. Proper, fitting piratey attire. No eyepatches this time! We are not a pantomime act. I’m looking at you, Adams.”

His boatswain had the grace to look abashed. 

“We’ll meet back at the dockside tavern in three hours. I expect every last man of you to be properly outfitted and prepared to be dastardly. We must begin as we mean to go on.”

“Aye, sir,” they grumbled.

“Most authentic-looking pirate outfit wins an extra ration of grog for a week, and an extra share of the next haul,” added Killian.

They perked up as if by magic. “Aye, sir!” they cried.

“Be off with ye then, mateys,” said Killian, trying hard not to laugh.

They scattered, each with a lively spring in his step and a gleam of avarice in his eye.

“That’s more like it,” thought Killian. Once they were out of earshot, he allowed himself a chuckle, and then went off to find his coat.

It turned out to be more difficult than he had anticipated. The shops were full of coats, naturally, many very fine, but none were quite what he was after. This one was too long, that one too short, the next too brightly coloured. He was not a songbird, thought Killian, glaring at the jonquil coat with distaste. In the end, he settled for a rather dashing pair of leather trousers, a black shirt, and an embroidered vest that matched his eyes. He might not care for bright colours in his coat, but a man could never have too many fine vests, he thought, with a satisfied nod at his reflection in the polished piece of metal on the shop wall. His beard had come in nicely, and along with the kohl made him look closer to his real age than like the barely pubescent boy a clean-washed and clean-shaven face made him seem. His hair was somewhat stiff from sea spray, and he used his fingers to comb it away from his brow, where it stood messily on end. That helped, too. The black shirt and blue vest suited him, and his pierced ear had finally healed. He quirked an eyebrow at his reflection, and gave it a smirk.

“Not bad,” he thought, “Though I say so myself.” 

He had just finished paying for his purchases and was turning to leave the shop when he saw it, hanging in the far corner.

A coat. _The_ coat. The perfect one.

Made of soft black leather with fine embroidery on the cuffs and on the stiff, pointed collar and adorned with two rows of elegant brass buttons, it was cut to fit narrowly to the torso before flaring out from the waist and ending mid-calf. He shrugged into it, and found that it fit as though it had been made for him. Turning back to his reflection, he was astounded at the difference the coat had wrought upon it. _This_ was the look of a proper pirate captain.

“Oh, I say, sir, it does suit you,” said the shopkeeper, coming up behind him.

“How much?” asked Killian, trying to keep his voice neutral. 

“That one’s thirty pieces of eight, that is,” replied the shopkeeper. “Or twelve gold doubloons, whichever is your preference, sir.”

Killian barely managed to conceal his disappointment. He did not have nearly that much. Maybe in a few months, when they’d taken down a few more ships, he could come back… but he knew that by then the exquisite coat would be gone.

With effort, he produced a smile for the shopkeeper and resolutely removed the coat. “Not today,” he replied, and strode from the shop.

He arrived at the dockside tavern and found his crew awaiting him, all arrayed in highly satisfactory pirate clothing. Adams in particular seemed to have really put some effort into it. There was nary an unconvincing eyepatch in sight. In fact, Killian realised with a burst of pride, unless one looked carefully enough to observe the lingering wariness and uncertainty in their eyes, there was nothing at all to distinguish them from the other occupants of the tavern.

“First mission accomplished,” muttered Killian, and headed towards their table.

He had barely taken two steps before he found his path blocked by two enormous men. Killian was not a short man himself, but these two towered over him, and their broad shoulders and burly arms eclipsed the light from the torches on the wall, casting Killian into shadow. They were eyeing him with expressions that were almost gleeful, clearly anticipating a pleasant fifteen minutes or so of bullying and grievous bodily harm. 

Killian raised an eyebrow, and their expressions darkened. 

“Well well, now what's this?" slurred the one on Killian’s left, who was wearing, Killian was amused to note, an actual eyepatch. Adams would be bloody thrilled. "'Ere’s a soft and pretty face I’ve not seen round ‘ere before.” 

“Nor I,” said the one on his right. "Pretty as a lass, 'e is." He leaned closer until his nose almost touched Killian’s. “What’s your name then, pretty lad?” His breath smelt of rum and old mackerel, not a pleasant combination. His eyes gleamed with malice. 

Killian almost laughed in their faces. Their attempts to intimidate him were weak tea indeed. These two brutes were strong, no doubt, but he’d wager they were also slow, and their wits dulled by drink. Taking them down wouldn’t even be that entertaining. Yet the voice from the dark corner of his mind was whispering to him, reminding him that he needed to play his hand wisely here. He and his crew had a reputation to establish, one that could certainly _not_ involve any suggestion of him being "pretty". Devilishly handsome, certainly, but pretty had entirely the wrong ring to it. 

Eyebrow still quirked, he treated the brutes to his finest smirk. “Killian Jones is my name, gentlemen. Captain of the Jolly Roger. Might I inquire what business you have with me?”

“Oho, might you inquire, ooh la la?” taunted the one on the right. Killian surmised that he was the stupider of the two, though that was a low bar to clear. 

“Our business,” said the one on the left “is we don’t want no pretty lads in this ‘ere esht—establishment. This ‘ere’s a pirate tavern, what’s for pirates, not pretty lads, so yous can begone or wes can wipe the pretty from your face, pretty lad.”

“‘Sright, pretty lad,” chimed in the one on the right, giving Killian’s shoulder a rough shove.

Killian’s anger began to rise, and he did not attempt to contain it. If these two mouth breathing morons wanted a fight, they would bloody well get a good one. Leaning in close to mackerel-breath, he bared his teeth. “You want to wipe the pretty off me?” he snarled. “Well, here I am, mates, and I’ve no intention of leaving. Do your worst.”

Mackerel-breath telegraphed his punch so early that Killian thought he might have been able to squeeze in a quick cup of tea before it arrived. The man’s fist came barreling towards him, and Killian allowed it to come within an inch of his nose before ducking aside and bringing his own fist up underneath mackerel-breath’s jaw, allowing the attacker’s forward momentum to supply most of the force. The man staggered backwards, stunned, and Killian swung sharply around, bringing his elbow up to smash the nose of the eyepatch-wearer. He followed this with a solid punch to the man’s temple, and he fell to the floor, unconscious.

Anger was coursing through Killian now, propelled by adrenaline and disgust. He flung his arms wide, addressing the whole tavern. “Anyone else care to have a go?” he roared. “Anyone else take exception to the prettiness of my face?” The tavern, which moments ago had been packed with interested onlookers, now found itself full of men who had their own business to attend to. “I thought not,” he sneered. “Be advised, mates. I am Captain Killian Jones, and I do not take kindly to —” Out of the corner of his eye, Killian caught a flash of movement. It was mackerel-breath, recovered from the punch and attempting to charge him from behind. Drawing his cutlass and turning on the balls of his feet in one smooth motion, he brought the blade around in an elegant arc that slashed clean through the man’s throat. Mackerel-breath staggered backwards, gasping, his hands clutching frantically at his neck, attempting to staunch the tide of blood that poured from him. To no avail. Killian watched as the man crumpled to the floor and gasped his final breath. “I do not take kindly,” Killian repeated calmly, “to aspersions cast upon my appearance.”

“What’s a spersion?” inquired a hesitant voice from the corner of the tavern.

“It means, don’t hate me because I’m beautiful,” said Killian, flashing his most charming grin, but with bloody menace glinting in his eyes.

Deliberately, slowly, knowing that all the eyes in the tavern were upon him, Killian sauntered over to where Eyepatch was recovering consciousness. The man blinked, his single good eye darting about the room, taking in the lifeless body of his friend and Killian standing above him with a bloodied cutlass. Snarling, he surged forward only to be arrested by the tip of Killian’s blade.

“Are you as stupid as your friend was?” he inquired. The man's eye flashed hatred at him, and he reached for the dagger in his belt. But Killian had no intention of giving him the chance to draw it. He thrust his cutlass through the man’s chest, leaning into the movement to bring himself nose-to-nose with him. “It seems that you are,” he taunted. “Too stupid to know when you’re bested. Too stupid to live.” Killian yanked his blade free, and the other man collapsed, lifeless, back onto the floor. As he fell, his coat dropped open to reveal a bulging leather purse tied to his belt. Killian cut it off and lifted it up with the bloody tip of his cutlass.

“Well, mates,” he announced to the tavern at large, “It seems the rum’s on him tonight!”

There was a moment’s dead silence, and then a deafening roar as a tavern full of pirates erupted in cheers.

“Benny, Bronson, get those bodies out of here,” Killian called to his men. “Take anything useful they’ve got on them.”

“Aye, Cap’n!” cried the two men, scrambling to obey. The rest of Killian’s crew swarmed around to clap him on the back, and Killian observed with pleasure that they were soon hailed jovially by the other men in the tavern. Within an hour, the _Jolly Roger_ ’s crew had been fully embraced by the Tortuga pirates as their own.

“And is that worth the lives of two men?” his rational voice needled Killian.

“The lives of two moronic brutes, you mean,” he snapped at the voice. “To solidify my reputation, and my crew’s? Aye, it is.”

“Too right, it is,” came the insidious whisper from the darkest corner of his mind. “They were bloody well asking for it.”

His rational mind had no reply.

There were sixty-two pieces of eight and seventeen gold doubloons in the purse. Killian bought a full barrel of rum for the men in the tavern and rewarded Adams handsomely for his exemplary contribution to pirate fashion.

The next morning he returned to the shop and bought his coat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CS will be back in the next chapter, along with the rest of the Charming family


	5. Epiphanies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian comes to some difficult realisations on the way back from Neverland. First Captain Swan chapter! 
> 
> Some sexytimes, in thought if not in deed.

The foresail of the _Jolly Roger_ , blackened by the evil shadow trapped within it, billowed as the ship flew through the air, headed away from Neverland once more, and this time he meant it to be forever.

Killian stood at the ship’s wheel, guiding her automatically, instinctively, he and his beloved ship so in sync that he barely needed to whisper his commands to her before she leapt to obey them. They’d had centuries together, he and his Jolly, and that long acquaintance coupled with the enchantments on the ship had forged between them a relationship that was almost romantic. For years, Killian had thought of his ship as the only woman he’d ever need, but as he stood at her wheel his mind was occupied with thoughts of another.

He was thinking about Milah.

Ironically, he had been thinking quite a lot about Milah ever since he had met Emma Swan. Not that it was unusual for him to think about her; he had thought about her every day for over two hundred years. This long habit had been altered only by _how_ he thought about her, and the length of time given over to this occupation. Since he’d met Emma, his perspective on the world had shifted, and he had started to see his relationship with Milah, and his quest to avenge her, through different eyes. Eyes that did not like what they saw.

In the first flush of fury and despair after Milah’s death, when he had impulsively used a precious magic bean to take his ship and crew back to a place he knew from tragic experience was filled with ungodly horrors, he had believed that the things he did were done for her, and that she would have wanted him to do them. To an extent, this was true. Certainly, she would not have tried to stop him from destroying Rumpelstiltskin. She had hated her husband with venomous loathing, something Killian at the time had struggled to understand. Why would she waste so much energy and emotion on that spineless little nothing of a man?

“You just try being married to him,” Milah had retorted. “And then see what you’re prepared to do.”

Seeing Rumpelstiltskin as the Dark One, all the weaknesses of his character twisted into viciousness and cruelty, and a gleeful delight in having power over people who had once wronged him, had helped Killian see her point. If the capacity for that depth of evil had been present inside the snivelling coward, then he was not fit to be any woman’s husband.

So Killian had easily convinced himself that his quest for vengeance was justified. Milah had made mistakes in her life but she had not deserved to die for them, and taking her murderer’s life in return for hers was the most elemental form of justice. And injustice, Killian had long since realised, was one thing he could absolutely not abide.

However, with his altered post-Swan perspective, he had gradually come to an unpleasant epiphany. His vengeance, he discovered, had not truly been about Milah at all, it had been about himself. About what had been taken from _him_ , what had been done to _him_. The injustice _he_ had suffered. Losing his lover, losing his hand, losing face in front of his crew. _That_ had been the injustice he could not abide, and that had been the real driving force behind his centuries-long quest. He had not been avenging his great love at all, merely indulging his selfish fury at having had something precious ripped from him. Much like Rumpelstiltskin’s fury at Killian for “stealing” his wife. His conduct had been no better that that of the bloody Dark One. The realisation had nearly choked him with shame.

Yet despite this, letting go of his vengeance had not been easy. How ridiculous he must appear, he reflected bitterly, and how weak, after having devoted so much time and effort to one single goal, to toss aside that goal so easily just because a pretty blonde had offered him a different path.

“More than just a pretty blonde, though, isn’t she, to you?” needled the voice from the dark corner of his mind. “Sexiest thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on, you thought up on that beanstalk, which with your lifespan is saying something. The things you’ve imagined doing to her would curdle the blood of a dockside whore”

“She’s also the noblest and most courageous woman you’ve ever met,” remarked his rational mind. “That’s why you’ve fallen so in lo—“

Killian silenced the voices with an impatient wave of his hand. “None of that matters. She’s not for me.”  
  
“Isn’t she?” replied both his voices in unison.

Killian wanted her to be, wanted it so fiercely that the desire was almost a palpable thing to him, lodged in his chest just beneath his heart. Unfortunately, as he had learned to his chagrin, when epiphanies come they come not in single spies but in battalions. His had come, each one hard on the heels of the last, to tear apart everything he’d thought was true and tilt his world off its axis. Many of these epiphanies had concerned Emma Swan.

Far too many, for Killian’s liking.

Just a few short weeks before, he had thought his interest in her was purely in the physical, in a quick, dirty romp of the sort he frequently enjoyed with an assortment of women from bar wenches to bored noblewomen. A princess would have made a fine addition to that motley crew, he’d told himself, and given different circumstances, he had no doubt he could have made it happen. Emma may have despised him, but she was also strongly attracted to him. Oh, she hid it well, but Killian had more than two centuries of sexual experience under his belt, and he knew when a woman wanted him.

Circumstances, unfortunately, had not been on his side, had seen fit instead to drag him back to the nightmare realm he thought he’d left behind for good, grown even darker and more sinister in his absence. His return to Neverland had been uncomfortable for Killian in numerous ways, not least of which was triggering his first epiphany about Emma Swan: she was an actual, honest-to-goodness hero.

He’d known she was tough, he’d seen that on the beanstalk. He’d known she was courageous too, he’d seen that in her odd little town. But when she’d launched herself from the deck of the _Jolly Roger_ and into a storm-swept sea to save his ship and everyone on it from the peril they had brought upon themselves, causing his heart to lodge itself in his throat and his body to clench in fear, he’d seen her determination, her inability to suffer fools, and her utter disregard for her own safety when protecting those she loved. Even now, the memory of it made him grind his teeth and beads of cold sweat break out on his forehead.

“The accursed woman needs a keeper,” he thought fiercely, “She needs someone to protect her from her own bloody self.” Killian yearned to be that someone, and this had been his second epiphany: it wasn’t just physical. Somehow Emma, with her closed, abrasive facade, her unflinching heroism, and the deep need to love and be loved that he sensed beneath it all, somehow she had twined herself inextricably around his heart.

Milah had been tough and unflinching as well. Indeed, although Killian would scoff at the notion that he had “a type”, he had to admit that strong women were his preference. Unlike some men (Rumpelstiltskin came readily to mind) who were threatened and diminished by a woman’s strength, Killian felt empowered by it. Many times he’d looked at Milah, with her tall, strong body and her fierce eyes, and felt a surge of pride that she had chosen him. She was beautiful and daring, she had fought alongside him, bolstered and encouraged him, and spurred him on to greater heights. In return, Killian had taught her how to fight, how to find her pleasure in sex, had given her the adventure and excitement she had craved. They had been a partnership of equals and yet, they had not brought out the best in each other. Quite the opposite, in fact, as Killian had realised in another of his painful epiphanies. Milah had encouraged his tendency to violence and to casual, careless cruelty, and he had made it possible, desirable even, for her to abandon her child. Of course they’d sworn to each other they would go back for him someday, Killian had told Bae the truth about that, but they had made no real effort to do so, and Killian had come to realise that Milah did not truly want Bae on the ship. He was too much of a reminder of her old life, her old self. Killian had known this, deep down, but had refused to acknowledge it or to force the issue. The shameful truth was that deep in the darkest part of his soul he’d been relieved. He had not wanted to lose Milah to her son.

Emma would never have left her boy the way Milah had, of this Killian was certain. He had acknowledged that certainty to himself even as Pan had dangled unholy temptation before his eyes— he and Emma, alone, free of Neverland’s clutches, sailing away in his ship, off to new adventures together. It was a powerfully seductive image, and for a moment Killian had almost succumbed. In his heart, though, he knew that it would have been futile. Emma would never have rested until she’d found a way back to Neverland, to save Henry, to save her family, to save even Regina and Rumpelstiltskin, who were unfit to lick her boots. That was strength and courage of a sort that Milah had never had. Emma made Killian long for the days when he had believed people could be purely noble, that they could be trusted to behave honourably without force or coercion. Emma was worthy of such trust, but Killian had forfeited any claim to it centuries ago.

And that was why she was not for him.

Despite their attraction to each other, despite the fragile bonds that were just beginning to weave a link between them, despite that blistering, drugging, heart-rending kiss, Emma’s love was not something he could aspire to.

Yet.

Killian had been sincere in his promise that he would win her heart. More sincere than he’d been about anything since he’d begged Bae not to leave the _Jolly Roger_. But first— first he had to earn the right.

He would start, Killian decided, by attempting to redress his sins against Baelfire. Twice he had wronged the boy, first by taking his mother away, and then by selling him to Pan. Now Bae was reunited with Emma, and with his own son. Killian could not stand in the way of Henry’s chance to have the family that his father had lost, could not stand between another child and his parent. He _would_ win Emma’s heart, but first he would step back and allow Bae the chance to build a family with her. He strongly suspected that Bae’s attempts in that direction would not lead to renewed romance with Emma, but morelikely to what he had overheard her call “co-parenting”. Emma was not a woman to be taken in twice, and Bae —Neal— was simply not capable of being what she needed. Killian was not particularly impressed with the man Milah’s son had become. Another painful epiphany.

Killian looked up at the stars. The ship was still bang on course, her magical sail still billowing. The Lost Boys were asleep on the deck, and Killian reckoned he could use a bit of rest himself.

“Stay on course,” he whispered to the Jolly, giving her wheel a loving stroke, and headed down through the hatch to his quarters. Tossing his coat on the bed and collapsing into a chair by his desk, he rummaged in a drawer until he located his portrait of Milah. It was worn soft from centuries of handling, the creases deep and the edges frayed. Killian gazed upon the beautiful face of the woman he had once loved, and for the first time in two hundred years it did not make him feel angry.

“I loved you,” he informed the portrait. “I hope you know that I did, and how much. It was a selfish and self-serving love, but no less real for that. I loved you, and I failed you, and I failed your boy. I’m sorry. Please forgive me, and trust that I will make it right.”

He was so engrossed in the portrait that he nearly failed to notice Emma appear in the open doorway to his quarters. Killian didn’t think she could have heard his softly spoken words from where she stood, but he was still taken off guard, and momentarily nonplussed. Quickly, he refolded the portrait and recovered his composure sufficiently to shoot Emma a saucy leer.

“See something you like, Swan?” He pitched his voice low and husky.

Emma’s gaze travelled up his body, taking in the loose, casual way he sprawled on his chair, his open shirt, his hooded eyes. She had a look in her eye much like the one she’d had just before she kissed him, exhilarated and reckless and hot. He could see that she was still full of the coiled tension from the past few stressful weeks, and newly full of exhilaration and joy at victory over Pan and having Henry finally safe. Her expression was tight and electric and she was clearly in search of some release.

She ran her tongue over her lower lip and tilted her head at him.

“Perhaps I do,” she replied, echoing his words to her, spoken just days before. Killian’s heart leapt to his throat where it lodged itself, beating far too fast, as his cock sprang to life. There could be no mistaking the invitation in her eyes, in her voice, and he barely restrained himself from leaping across the desk and seizing what she offered. He’d gone rock hard already, and she was so damnably beautiful in the lantern light. But it was too soon. Sleeping with her now would ruin everything, would only give her more ammunition against him, more excuse to hold him at arm’s length.

He wanted to weep at the irony. Bloody Swan, of course she would choose the very day he had vowed to become a better man to win her, mere moments after the vow, in fact, to appear at his door with lust in her eyes. Two weeks ago, this was all he had wanted, and now he couldn’t, he _wouldn’t_ take it. If this was punishment for his sins, it was an effective one.

“You’re a damned bloody fool,” hissed the voice from the dark corner of his mind. “She’s _offering_. She _wants_ to. She wants _you_. Take her, and the devil take the consequences!”

But still Killian held back. He had listened to the dark voice too often in the past, and look where it had got him. He waited for his rational mind to chime in. It did not disappoint.

“She’s had casual fucks in the past,” the rational voice spoke plainly. “To afford her the release she's seeking now. Don't let her file you away in that category, with those other men.” Killian clenched his fist against that vile notion. “It’s a game of attrition you’re playing now, and no mere shag, however phenomenal, will do, not with this woman. You have to offer her more. With her, you want to make love.”

“What a load of sickening, sentimental twaddle,” scoffed the dark voice, but Killian quashed it ruthlessly. His rational mind had it right. As satisfying as a hot, hard fuck would be right now, as much as his cock ached for just that —to live out one of his countless fantasies of fucking Emma Swan, of sinking deep into her warmth and making her writhe and moan and scream his name— it wouldn’t be enough. He wanted desperately to have sex with Emma, but more than that, more than anything else, he wanted to make love to her, make love _with_ her, to worship her with his mouth and his body and have her truly open herself to him. To know she felt the same things he did. To hear her scream his _real_ name, and look at him with love in the aftermath. He could wait for that. Would have to wait for it, as anything less might destroy him.

So there it was. He was going to turn down earth-shattering sex with the woman he loved. He _was_ a damned bloody fool.

Taking refuge behind the pirate, he fought to keep his voice steady as he shot Emma his dirtiest leer. “You have exceptional taste, then, Swan,” he growled. “I am devilishly handsome, after all.” She made a move as if to step inside, and he searched frantically forthe words to dissuade her. If she entered his bedroom now, his resolve would not hold.“But I— I believe I heard your father was looking for you earlier. He’s above on the deck with the Lost Boys. Perhaps you should go see what he wants, before he decides to extend his search down here.”

Surprise flickered across Emma’s face, followed by a flash of disappointment that nearly broke him. Then she smiled, an easy, genuine smile, and it felt like the sun shining in his very soul.

“I’ll do that. Thanks for telling me. Goodnight, Hook.”

“Goodnight, Swan.”

Emma disappeared from his doorway, and Killian collapsed in relief, wincing at the ache in his groin. It was going to be an uncomfortable night. But she was worth a little discomfort. She was worth anything.

He picked up the portrait of Milah again. Without unfolding it, he held it to the flame of his lantern and watched as it burned to ash.

“Goodbye, Milah,” he said. 


	6. Avoidance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little S3 canon divergence, in which there is no second curse and everyone stays in Storybrooke and has some time to regroup before Zelena appears. Starts with Emma's POV, ends with Killian's. 
> 
> Sexytimes in thought if not deed.

Emma Swan believed in letting people have as much space and time as they needed to work through their shit. It was only fair, she reasoned, as she herself often needed quite a lot of both to work through hers. But there came a point when enough was just enough.

Nearly two weeks since they’d returned from Neverland, and she hadn’t seen so much as a swirl of black leather from Hook in all that time. She knew he was still in town; the _Jolly Roger_ remained moored at the docks, and everyone else in Storybrooke seemed to be seeing him regularly. She knew he ate at least one meal at Granny’s most days, that he often drank with the dwarves at the Rabbit Hole in the evenings, that he had been sparring with David on the Jolly most mornings, and that he had even spent some time with Regina in her vault, trying to figure out a way to remove Pan’s shadow from his foresail without either releasing the shadow or blowing up the _Jolly Roger_. He wasall over the damn place and yet he somehow always managed to be where she wasn’t. If Emma didn’t know better, she’d think he was avoiding her.

But then, she wasn’t altogether certain that she did know better. Something about the whole situation just seemed off, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what.

Then just that afternoon Neal had acted oddly cagey when the conversation had turned to Hook. She and Henry had started meeting Neal for lunch a few times a week, against Emma’s better judgement as it made Mary Margaret practically giddy with joy, and Emma was getting more and more worried about how her mother would react to the news that Emma and Neal would not be getting back together. She continued to meet him for Henry’s sake, but with each lunch she grew more certain that there was no future for her and Neal other than being Henry’s parents. She just didn’t trust him, she wasn’t attracted to him, and she felt no urge to spend more time with him than she had to. There was still residual affection there, from the good memories she had of him and from the characteristics of his that she saw in Henry, but that wasn’t enough to build a life on. Meanwhile the man she did trust, and was attracted to, and really, really wanted to see again, was nowhere to be found.

So much for _“When I win your heart, Emma…”_ she thought crossly.

It was Henry who introduced Hook into the conversation.

“So Grandpa and Hook have been practicing sword fighting every morning, and I was thinking maybe I could go too,” he said suddenly, trying to sound casual.

“David and Hook have been sparring?” “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Henry.”

Emma and Neal spoke in unison.

“Wait, why isn’t it a good idea?” Emma was still trying to get her head around David and Hook voluntarily spending time together, but the tone of Neal’s voice had been strange.

He shrugged, not meeting her gaze. “I just don’t think it is. If you want to learn sword fighting, Henry, I can teach you.”

Now it was Henry’s turn to look shifty. “Uh, no offence, Dad, but Grandpa and Hook have a lot more experience than you and I think I could learn a lot from them. Especially Hook, he’s actually a really good teacher.”

“He’s started teaching you to fight already?” Neal’s voice was angry now. “But he said he’d—” he broke off suddenly and cast a nervous look at Emma.

“No! He just pointed out some constellations to me the other night, and told me a bit about how he used to use them to navigate. It was pretty cool.”

“Why were you hanging out with Hook at night?” Neal was almost shouting. Henry looked upset.

“I went to Mom’s —Regina’s— vault to meet her, and Hook was there. Mom was busy so Hook sat outside and talked to me until she was finished. It was no big deal.”

They’d dropped the subject then, but something in Neal’s manner kept niggling at the back of Emma’s mind, and now she meant to get to the bottom of the whole weird situation.

When Neal came down to the diner for breakfast the next morning, she was waiting for him.

His face lit up when he saw her. “Hey, Ems, you joining me?”

“I just want to talk, Neal.”

“Hey, no worries, talk away.”

“I want to know what’s going on with Hook.”

The smile slid off his face. “What do you mean what’s going on with Hook?”

“I mean, what’s going on with him? What’s his deal? I know you know something, you nearly said it to Henry yesterday. Tell me.”

“Why, um, why don’t you just ask him?”

“I would if I could freaking find him!”

Neal looked slightly mollified. “So he has been staying away,” he muttered, almost too quietly for her to hear.

“Staying away? What the hell does that mean? Tell me what you know, Neal.”

But Neal’s face had taken on the belligerent expression that she knew all too well. She wasn’t going to get anything more from him.

“Fine,” she spat. “I _will_ ask him myself.”

Neal opened his mouth but she didn’t wait around to hear what he had to say. Stomping angrily out of Granny’s, she got in her bug and headed to the docks. According to Henry, David and Hook should just be finishing up their sparring session, so Hook would surely be on the _Jolly Roger_.

When she arrived at the ship, it appeared deserted. Emma knew that it was “bad form,” as Hook would say, to board a ship without permission, but she was too angry for niceties, so she marched up the gangplank and then to the quarterdeck.

“Hook? Hook! I know you’re here somewhere!” She tried the door to the hatch that led to his quarters. It opened easily.

“Hook?” she called down.

There was a sound of splashing water, then Hook’s voice. “Swan?”

That was all the invitation Emma needed. She stomped down the ladder, relishing the prospect of giving him a piece of her mind. Her feet hit the floor and she spun round, ready to let him have it, but then she saw him and her words lodged in her throat.

Hook was standing at a small washstand next to his bed, clearly halfway through a sponge bath. He still wore his boots and trousers, but his vest and shirt were draped over his desk chair. Drops of water glistened on the taut skin of his chest and arms, and his hair stood up in damp spikes. The kohl around his eyes seemed darker and more smudged than usual, making their blue stand out clearly in the dim light.

Emma gaped. She couldn’t help herself. He was _gorgeous_. Lean muscles, well-defined, strong and sinewy, his chest generously covered in hair that trailed down his abdomen, narrowing to a thin line and disappearing under the loosened laces of his leather trousers. There was a tattoo of a skull and crossbones on his shoulder that would have amused her if it wasn’t so goddamn hot.

He appeared equally stunned to see her. Something that looked almost like panic flared in his eyes before he visibly got a grip on himself. Hooking a thumb under the waistband of his trousers, he leaned a hip against the washstand and smirked suggestively at her.

“Is there something I can… _do_ for you, Swan?”

Emma would have died before she admitted it, but those saucy innuendos, uttered in his deep voice with that damned accent never failed to get her wet. She hated how easily he could turn her on, hated it even more because she was certain he knew the effect he had on her. Which made it all the more baffling that he was avoiding her, that he had turned her away from his cabin on the way home from Neverland that night…

He obviously wanted her. He obviously knew that she wanted him. So what the hell was his _deal_?

“Um,” she said, trying to remember why she was there.

He quirked his eyebrow at her, sending a bolt of heat straight to her core, and she nearly snarled.

“You appear flustered, Swan, perhaps you’d care to sit down?”

‘No! I just — I wanted to talk to you.”

“Very well. I am all ears.” The smirk disappeared, replaced by an expression of polite interest which was somehow more infuriating.

He still stood with his hip against the washstand, thumb tucked in his waistband and pulling his trousers down _way_ too low, hook arm hanging loosely at his side. She looked at the brace he wore to hold the hook, realising that this was the first time she’d seen all of it. She wondered if it was uncomfortable. Quickly, she shifted her gaze away, not wanting to stare. Unfortunately, this brought her eyes back to his chest, and that was no better. She caught sight of a drop of water running down his abdomen and followed it as it trailed its way down, down, towards the place where his trouser laces… No! She gave herself a mental shake. She would _not_ let her mind go there.

He cleared his throat and with effort, she dragged her gaze back up to his face. His expression was still polite, but there was something in his eyes that told her he knew exactly where her mind had gone. _Damn_ him.

“Apologies, love, but I thought you wanted to _talk_?”

She ground her teeth. “I was just wondering what you’ve been up to.”

“Up to?"

“Yeah. I haven’t seen you in a while, and I dunno, I was just curious about what you were doing.”

“I had no idea you took such an active interest in my day to day life.”

“Well, I am the Sheriff of this town so I need to, to make sure everyone is… well, that everything is… fine,” she finished lamely.

“To ensure the pirate isn’t making trouble, you mean,” he said with a hint of bitterness.

“No! I just—”

“Well, allow me to ease your mind, love. I haven’t been responsible for any mischief, mayhem, or even so much as a minor breach of the peace since we returned. You can ask your bloody father if you don’t believe me, he sees me every day.”

“Yeah, Henry told me. How’d _that_ happen?”

He shrugged. “The Prince and I have brokered an accord.” Hook smirked again. “It seems he has finally succumbed to my devilish charm.”

“Sure he has. More likely he just wants to keep an eye on you.”

“Something that appears to run in the family. Why are you really here, Swan?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, as you say, you’re the Sheriff. If you wanted information about my conduct and whereabouts, there are other ways you could have gleaned it than by charging into my quarters and interrupting my bath.”

Emma flushed. “Well, I—”

“Yes?”

“I just—”

He raised his eyebrow again and waited for her to finish.

“I want to know why you’re avoiding me!” she burst out.

He started to reply, but she charged ahead. “And don’t try to tell me you’re not, because I haven’t seen you at all since we got back but everyone else seems to have and then Neal said—”

Something like anger flashed in his eyes. “What did Neal say?”

“Well, he didn’t _say_ so much but he kind of suggested that you were— that you were staying away from me on purpose.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. She tried not to fidget while she waited for him to say something, but the silence stretched on too long. “Well?” she asked.

“Well what, love?”

“Well, is it true? Are you staying away from me?”

He dropped his gaze and turned away from her, picking up a towel from the washstand and blotting his arms and chest with it.

“Aye,” he said shortly.

Pain lanced through Emma. She’d been trying to hide it under anger and annoyance, but she realised in a flash that what she’d most felt these past two weeks was hurt. Why would Hook choose to avoid her? Had she done something? Was he just not interested any more?

“Why?” she asked in a small voice, not quite able to keep the ache out of the question.

He looked back at her sharply. “Swan?”

“I know I can be… difficult, Hook, but I thought— I thought we were friends.”

“Did you, now?”  
  
“Yes! I mean… aren’t we?”

He turned away again and resumed drying himself. “Aye, I suppose that’s what we are. Friends.” There was a bitter edge to his voice.

“Sooo, I guess that means I’ll be seeing you around more?”

“Of course, love, if that’s what you’d like.”

She wanted to tell him that what she’d _like_ was to trace the path of that water droplet down his chest with her tongue. She’d _like_ to fist her hands in his hair and drag his mouth to hers, to kiss him as she had done in Neverland and hear him moan at the back of his throat again, as he had done then. She’d _like_ to feel him deep inside her, hard and hot, and find out if he fit between her legs as well as she imagined he would, if he could live up to all his innuendo. But she couldn’t tell him any of that and the frustration of it was nearly overwhelming.

“What would _you_ like, Hook?”

He chuckled, but there was no humour in it. “Oh, love. You do not want to know what I’d like.”

“Oh yeah?” She flung the words at him like a challenge. “Try me.”

He laid the towel down on the washstand with exaggerated control, then turned to look at her.

“Do not test me, Swan.”

“Why not?” Emma taunted, angry now. “You sure talk a good game, _Captain_ , but it’s _all_ talk, and no follow through, at least not from where I’m standi—”

Hook moved so fast she barely had time to feel startled. Suddenly he was there, looming over her, burying his hook with a deafening _thunk_ into the ladder rung just above her head and grabbing the one behind her hip with his hand, effectively trapping her against the ladder. She could feel the heat from his body and the residual dampness from his bath. His eyes were like daggers, boring into her. Emma’s heart was trying to race out of her chest, heat and moisture were pooling in her groin, and as she looked up at him she could only produce one single thought:

“ _Finally._ ”

 

______

 

Killian looked down at Emma, his face close enough to hers that he could feel her breath on his cheek, and tried to remember why he couldn’t fuck her.

There were reasons, good ones, ones that he’d reviewed with himself every day for the past two weeks so he’d remember to stay away from her.

Standing so close to her now, though, looking into her eyes, seeing their pupils so dilated barely any green was visible, sensing the pulse frantically beating in her throat, and hearing the excited catch in her rapid breathing, he couldn’t call to mind a single one. His cock was hard as iron, straining against his trouser laces, begging him to grind it against her, to bury it deep inside her and give them what they’d both been longing for.

Part of him was furious with her for coming here, coming into his space _again_ , looking breathtakingly beautiful, taunting him with what he couldn’t have. He’d missed her fiercely, thought about her constantly, sat awake at night imagining doing filthy things to her. Several times he had gone to where he knew she’d be, to the police station or to Granny’s, thinking he’d allow himself just a glimpse of her, but each time he had turned back at the last minute, knowing even that would be too much and his resolve would crumble.

Now she was here, mere inches away from his bed, apparently upset with him for being a gentleman and giving her time with her family (oh yes, that was it. Henry. Neal. His vow to be a better man. He’d known there were good reasons), so upset that she’d come into his quarters and spent the past ten minutes fucking him with her eyes. Those eyes that were now locked with his, overflowing with lust, begging him to kiss her, to put his hand and his hook on her, to do whatever he liked to her. Killian was sure he had never wanted anything so much in all of his absurdly long life as he wanted to fuck Emma Swan right at that moment. Yet he held back.

From somewhere deep inside his mind he could hear his rational voice reminding him of the most important reason why he could not take what he so desperately desired. The lust that gripped them, as powerful, as nearly overwhelming as it was, it wasn’t enough. “Love,” the voice reminded him, “you’re holding out for her love. Don’t bollocks this up now.”

Then Emma moaned softly and shifted her weight, the action bringing her hips forward just enough to brush against his, ever so slightly, for the briefest moment, and Killian damned everything except his driving need to get inside her as soon as possible.

“You wish to know what I’d like, Emma?” he growled. “What I _want_?”

She tilted her head forward in the tiniest nod.

He leaned closer, stopping a hairsbreadth from her lips. “Shall I show you?”

She nodded again and every muscle in Killian’s body tensed in anticipation. But before he could close the minute gap between them, a shrill noise emanated from Emma’s jacket, startling Killian and causing him to rock back on his heels.

“What the devil is that infernal racket, Swan?”

“What?” she replied, eyes still glazed and fixed on him. “What racket?”

“Whatever it is that’s shrieking from your jacket pocket. It sounds like a banshee.”

“A banshee? Really?” Emma blinked rapidly and shook her head, as if trying to clear it.

“Aye, a particularly unpleasant one. What is it?”

Emma reached into her pocket and withdrew a small, black, rectangular device. “It’s just my cell phone.”

“Your what?”

“It’s a, I don’t know, a way to talk to people when they’re far away. Look—” she held the device up for him to see. Killian recoiled, ripping his hook awkwardly from the ladder rung as he leapt back.

“That’s your father!”

“What? Oh, yeah, it’s him calling. I forgot I put that picture on his profile.” She glared at the device for a moment, then sighed. “I suppose I’d better answer it.”

“By all means, love.” Killian took several steps back and leaned against his desk. He felt strung out and agitated, heart still pounding, groin still throbbing, but he feared the moment for action had passed.

“Good thing too,” retorted his rational voice. “You were about to make a colossal mistake. One that could easily have destroyed all your hopes for the future.”

“Perhaps,” thought Killian, “But I’d be feeling a damned sight better here in the present.”

“Patience,” replied the rational voice. “Remember, it takes patience.”

Killian shrugged the voice aside and returned his attention to Emma. She had her device pressed against her ear, and an incredulous look on her face.

“A flying _what_?” she was saying. “David, that’s… well okay, probably not _impossible_ , but still… really? Okay, okay, I’ll be right there. Oh,” she looked up at Killian with an unreadable expression. “Yeah, well I guess we can use all the help we can get. No, it’s okay, I’m really close, I can pick him up. See you in a few.” She removed the device from her ear and tapped it with her thumb. “Get dressed, Hook,” she said in her Sheriff voice, not quite meeting his eyes. “Apparently there’s some sort of weird shit situation going down in the forest. I told David we’d be right there.”

“As you wish, love,” he replied, some of the gravel still in his voice. Her eyes flew to his and flashed with heat for a second before she spun around and began to climb the ladder.

“I’ll meet you at the bug. Don’t take too long.” And then she was gone.

Killian sighed and ran his hand over his face. His lust was cooling and in its wake came horror at what he had almost done. Emma was not ready to give what he wanted, what he _needed_ from her, and he’d very nearly ensured that she would never be ready. He tried to imagine how fast she’d have run from him if they had gone through with it, had fucked right there on the ladder, not even in the bloody bed. She would have been faster even than the _Jolly Roger_ in pursuit of a wealthy merchant vessel, he concluded wryly.

Killian consoled himself with a thought that brought him equal parts pleasure and apprehension: he no longer had a plausible excuse to avoid her. Not only because David’s communication seemed to suggest that there was some sort of new crisis in Storybrooke that would require his assistance, but also because his previous avoidance had _hurt_ her. He could see that now. She’d thought he had lost interest, given up on her, after all his coaxing and promises. Killian wanted to kick himself for not realising what she would assume when he just disappeared from her life with no explanation.

“You don’t abandon a woman with abandonment issues, you thrice-damned fool,” he berated himself. Well, no more. He was done with that. From this moment until he drew his last breath he would be by Emma’s side, regardless of the cost to his heart or his sanity. He’d given Neal his shot, stepped back as he’d promised, and still Emma had come to _him_ , sought _him_ out, and if David had not interrupted would even now be naked and wrapped around around him as he— “Argh!” Killian growled, pushing the image out of his mind and stomping over to his sea chest to retrieve a clean shirt.

He barely noticed the tiny, warm spark of hope that had kindled in his heart at the idea that Emma would care so much whether he was in her life or not. Yet he found himself whistling as he dressed. He felt lighter than he had in weeks.

Five minutes later, he was ensconced in Emma’s odd yellow vessel, reassuring her that all was back to normal with Hook’s characteristic smirk and a cheeky comment, heading off to see what Storybrooke would demand of him next. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish something like this had actually happened in S3


	7. The Lost Year, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in an AU version of Season 3, in which Pan remained in Neverland and didn't cast his curse, allowing Hook and Emma time to work some things out between them before facing Zelena, who has managed to reach into Storybrooke in her own unique way. The story begins with Killian back in the Enchanted Forest and Emma in New York. This will be a story in multiple parts, exactly what happened in Storybrooke will be revealed... eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said at the end of the last chapter that we would have CS and Charming family next, but I got swept up in this idea of carrying on the AU from Chapter 5, so I'm going to do that then follow it with the one I'd originally planned, which is set later chronologically. I hope this story will be fun to read :)

_Her hands are stroking him, over his shoulders, down his chest, sliding lower as she presses kisses along his collarbone, up his neck, across his jawline and finally to his mouth. He moans as her tongue touches his; her taste is the sweetest he’s ever known. Her golden hair is tangled in his fingers, he breathes in its intoxicating scent as he returns her kiss, filling it with all the desperate passion and love he feels for her. She pulls back slightly, their foreheads touch, and he strokes his thumb across the dimple in her chin._

_“Emma,” he breathes._

_Her eyes are warm, soft, overflowing with emotion._

_“Killian,” she says, and his name falls from her lips like a caress, “I lo—”_

Killian awoke with a start, sweating and breathless and achingly aroused. He closed his eyes again, trying to coax the dream back to him, but it was no use. She was gone. Emma was in the Land Without Magic, all memory of him wiped clean from her mind, and he was stuck in the Enchanted Forest, _his_ memories painfully intact. During the day, he put her resolutely out of his head, occupying himself with other things, pretending that he didn’t feel her absence as a gaping hole ripped in his chest. But at night, he could not avoid her. She appeared without fail in his dreams, sometimes soft and gentle, holding him close while he worshipped her with his body, other times fierce and daring, leading him on adventures before pulling him to her and kissing him breathless. Without fail, his dream Emma spoke the words he would sacrifice anything to hear from her, and without fail he awoke before he could hear them.

He could never hear her say she loved him. Not even in his own bloody dreams.

Killian drew what consolation he could from trying to imagine her life with Henry in New York. He had few memories of the city to draw on, but he recalled it as full of life and noise and people. They would have full and fulfilling lives, with work for Emma and school for Henry, activities, friends, perhaps even lovers— his mind violently rejected the idea of Emma with another man, but she deserved to be happy, and if someone else could make her so, could draw her out from behind her walls and earn her love, well, Killian could not begrudge her that joy, though the thought of it ate him away inside, like corrosive acid.

Sighing, Killian rolled from his bed and went to wash and dress. He could sense from the Jolly’s mood that they were still on course, meaning that they should be less than a day’s fair sailing from the port at Misthaven. Once they arrived, Killian was not sure where he would go or what he would do. Most of his crew were probably still about somewhere, doubtless not best pleased with him for ditching them to help the mermaid rescue her love, but a simple grudge had never stopped true pirates from sailing when the rewards were rich enough. Killian was sure there were still rich pickings to be plundered on the seas, but he struggled to muster any enthusiasm for the harvest.

When he’d first arrived back in the Enchanted Forest, swept back along with his ship, despite Regina’s scornful rejection of his plan to keep the Jolly close (“That’s not how this works, pirate.”) he had been determined to pick up his old life and banish Emma from his thoughts with plunder and rum. But no sooner had Killian entered the familiar tavern in search of likely crewmen than he was overcome by an overwhelming sense of futility. He’d been doing this exact same thing for _literal centuries_ , and the prospect of taking it up again exhausted him.

The truth was, he’d come to enjoy working on the side of good, doing things for reasons other than himself.

So he’d taken his ship and sailed her alone, in search of something he couldn’t put a name to, and didn’t care to think about too closely.

After months of aimless wandering, he’d returned to Misthaven to find Smee in the tavern, full of questions about the Jolly and when they could go pirating again.

“The old crew is all here, Cap’n,” he’d cajoled. “We are all ready and eager to take up with you again, just say the word.”

Killian had shaken him off with vague promises, and thought that would be the end of it. But the next night Smee was back, and he had brought most of Killian’s old crew with him. The rum flowed freely, and as the haze of alcohol settled over his mind, blissfully dulling the sharp edges of his heartbreak, Killian found himself agreeing to a raid on a small port north of Agrabah. He hadn’t been to Agrabah in decades, he reasoned, it would be interesting to see it again.

That night as he was walking back to the Jolly, he’d become aware of light, rapid footsteps behind him. Grabbing the dagger from his coat, he had executed a rapid halt-and-spin move, catching the follower off guard and allowing him to grab the other person’s arm and swing her — _her?_ — around and against his chest, arm twisted behind her, his dagger at her throat.

“The last man who tailed me ended up with this dagger in his gut,” he growled in her ear.“While I don’t make a habit of killing women, I _am_ always prepared to make an exception. Now who are you and what do you want from me?”

The woman’s voice was unusually clear and bright. There was fear in it, but it did not waver. “My name is Ariel. I’ve come to ask for your help.”

“My _help_?”

“Yes. If you are the Captain Hook who helped Snow White and her family in Neverland.”

“I am,” said Killian, releasing her and re-sheathing the dagger in his coat. She turned around and a shaft of moonlight hit her face, shining off her red hair and large blue eyes. Killian was intrigued despite himself, and found himself wondering what this lovely young woman who knew about Neverland might want from him.

“What would you have me assist you in, lass?”

Ariel looked around, uneasily. “I’d rather not speak of it here.”

“Very well, my ship is moored just yonder. We can speak privately there. That is, if you’ve no objection to being alone with a pirate on his ship?”

Ariel met his gaze unflinchingly. “No objection at all,” she replied.

Killian led Ariel to where the _Jolly Roger_ was floating, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon.

“This is your ship?” Ariel’s voice held a note of surprise.

“Aye.”

“She’s— not what I was expecting.”

“What were you expecting, lass?”

Ariel chuckled as they climbed the gangplank.

“I guess I’m not really sure. All the stories I’d heard about you told of a ruthless pirate who cared only for himself and took out anyone who stood in his way. When I learned that it was you who helped Snow and her family, I was surprised.”

“Aye, I was surprised myself,” replied Killian wryly, ushering her down the ladder into his quarters.

Ariel smiled at him. “Maybe you can surprise both of us again,” she said. “I sought you out to ask your help with finding someone.”

Killian indicated for her to sit down in a chair at his table, and seated himself across from her.

“Who is it you’ve lost?”

“My husband,” she replied. “Prince Eric.”

Killian’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I was given to understand that Prince Eric had married a mermaid.”

“He did.”

“Forgive me, lass, but I’ve encountered many a mermaid in my time and the one thing they all had in common was that they did not go about on two legs.”

Ariel held up her wrist, which was adorned with a delicate green bracelet. “This allows me to walk on land,” she explained. “It’s definitely not my favourite way to travel, but it makes it possible for me to live with Eric.”

Killian nodded, shaking off the uncomfortable memories of another young woman wearing a similar bracelet. He’d handled that encounter remarkably badly. This time would be different.

“And how is it you think I might assist you in recovering your lost husband?” he inquired.

“Three weeks ago, Eric was out sailing when his ship was attacked by pirates. Only one of his crew made it back to our kingdom, badly injured but alive. He reported that he had seen the pirates taking Eric prisoner. Three days later, we received a ransom demand from Captain Blackbeard.”

Killian ground his teeth. Of course Blackbeard would be involved.

“His demands are so great that paying the ransom would bankrupt our kingdom. I have to get Eric back some other way. I managed to find out that he is being held on Hangman’s Island, two days’ sailing from here. He is guarded at all times by ten men, and Blackbeard’s ship is patrolling the waters around the island. I have the means to get a message to him, but I need a plan to get him away from the guards and off the island. That’s where you come in. Do you think you could help me find a way to save him?”

Killian quirked an eyebrow at her, and shot her his most devilish grin.

“Aye, lass,” he replied, “I believe I have just the thing.”

                                                                               *                   *                    * 

Washed and dressed and comforted by a swig or two of rum, Killian went up on deck, smiling a little at the memory of besting Blackbeard and rescuing Ariel’s prince. He had agreed to help the mermaid mostly to recapture the sense of purpose and peace that he had felt back in Storybrooke, and even in Neverland, the result of helping good people win because it was the right thing to do. Yet he would not deny that the opportunity to strike such a blow against his old enemy was also a compelling incentive. His smile edged slightly bitter. Perhaps part of him would always be a pirate.

Ariel’s means of getting a message to Eric had turned out to be a rather dishevelled-looking seagull, who perched on her shoulder with a devoted if somewhat addlepated expression on its face. Killian had been sceptical, but Ariel promised the bird could be relied upon. Their plan was simple. From the hold of the _Jolly Roger_ , Killian produced a small vial of sleeping draught, strong enough to knock out ten men for several hours. Ariel would swim to the island, sneak into the hollow where Eric and his guards were camped, and spike their rum with it.

“Are you certain they’ll be drinking?” Ariel had asked doubtfully.

“They’re pirates, love, of course they’ll be drinking. They’ll have a whole barrel of rum with them, unless I miss my guess, you can slip the potion in that.”

According to the information Ariel had collected, the guards kept Eric tied up in a small cave behind the hollow where they were congregated. The seagull would carry Eric a small folding knife to cut through the ropes binding him, and the message to flee to the southern tip of the island, where Ariel would swim to meet him. Killian in the Jolly would distract Blackbeard then quickly swing round to collect them and they would make their escape.

“That sounds risky. Are you sure you can outmanoeuvre Blackbeard and get to us in time?”

“Aye, lass, the _Jolly Roger_ is the fastest and the deftest ship in all the realms. She can sail rings around Blackbeard’s old clunker. Why do you think he’s been trying to steal her from me these twenty years?”

The plan had been executed flawlessly. Killian could not recall the last time he’d led a mission that had gone so well. The guards had been just as drunk as he had predicted, and Ariel had no difficulty sneaking in and putting them to sleep. The seagull had delivered the message and the knife, and Eric and Ariel had a joyful if brief reunion on the southern tip of the island before the Jolly appeared and they swam out to meet her, sailing off and leaving Blackbeard far behind.

For his part, Killian had greatly enjoyed the impotent fury he was certain had been coursing through Blackbeard’s veins when the _Jolly Roger_ had suddenly appeared off his port bow, firing two quick cannon blasts to take out his mainmast and his steering before swinging rapidly about and sailing off in the opposite direction. Knowing Blackbeard would be watching through his spyglass, Killian had not been able to resist giving an elegant military bow and a flourish, almost wishing he had a ridiculous hat of the sort Blackbeard himself favoured. They looked absurd, but they were good for doffing ironically at one’s foes.

The next morning, he had delivered Ariel and Eric to their kingdom, waving away their thanks and offers of a reward.

“It was my pleasure, lass,” he’d said. “I enjoyed feeling useful again. And vexing Blackbeard, of course.”

“Of course,” laughed Ariel. “But truly, Hook, if there’s anything you ever need, please call me.”

At his perplexed look, she had produced a small conch shell from her cloak and handed it to him. “I’m sure you know how this works?”

“Aye, lass. And thank you.”

“Thank _you_ Hook.”

But now Killian was alone and rudderless again, heading back to Misthaven and the same dull prospects he had left. He leaned against the Jolly’s wheel, and wondered what Emma was doing, right at this very moment. Perhaps tracking down and defeating a bad guy of her own… but no, he couldn’t start thinking of her during the day.

“That way madness lies,” muttered Killian. His dreams were torment enough.

Just then, a bird fluttered down and landed on the wheel. It was not a sea bird, and although Killian could not claim great familiarity with avian facial expressions, he thought it looked tired. Tied to its leg was a note and a small blue vial. Quickly, Killian removed both, and unfurled the small scroll. His eyebrows drew together in consternation as he read it over three times before crumpling it in his fist.

“Bloody hell,” he said.


	8. The Lost Year, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian must escape the Dark Curse and jump to another realm. What could be simpler?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this AU, the Jolly Roger is a semi-sentient magical being, and her relationship with Killian is similar to that of the Doctor and the TARDIS (reference for nerds of another stripe). This is both evident and really, really important.

The message on the scroll was short and to the point: 

 

 _New curse coming_ , it read

_All back to Storybrooke_

_Keep away Misthaven_

_Use locator spell_

_Find Emma_

_Bring her home_

 

_Hurry_

 

Admirably succinct, thought Killian, but it assumed a hell of a lot. Firstly, that he would be able to escape the curse, and then, even more improbably, that he could find a way to the Land Without Magic. A task that had taken the Dark One himself centuries and a great deal of dark magic to accomplish.

Killian paced the quarterdeck and considered the impossible tasks before him. Once the curse had been cast, the walls between the worlds would be down, and —provided that he had indeed escaped the curse’s grasp— he would be able to access the Land Without Magic using a simple portal. The vital question then became how in bloody hell to open one. He was almost certain that Blackbeard had a magic bean, but could he spare the days, even weeks that might be necessary to acquire it? The note had made it clear that time was of the essence, and his interactions with Blackbeard were fraught with animosity at best, murderous rage at worst. After having been so thoroughly wrong-footed during their last encounter, the bloody reprobate was unlikely to be warmly receptive to any overture Killian might make to him.

“He might give me the bean, but he’ll make me dance a merry jig for it,” thought Killian.

No, the bean was out. He would have to take the other option.

Impossible challenge number three would be finding Emma. The note referred to a locator spell, presumably the contents of the blue vial. But he would need something of Emma’s to activate it. Whoever wrote the note must have assumed that he would have easy access to such a thing. Killian ground his teeth. This bloody note writer took a great deal for granted. He did, of course, have something that belonged to Emma, but Killian flushed red at the thought of her or anyone else discovering that he was in possession of it.

“Never mind,” he thought. “Deal with that when the time comes. First you have to escape this bloody curse, and get through the bloody portal.”

And then of course there was the question of Emma’s memories. Even assuming that he escaped the curse, got to the Land Without Magic, and found Emma, how in all the realms was he to convince her to come with him? By telling her that her family needed her? The family she also didn’t remember? He’d sound like a madman.

He ran several possible scenarios though in his mind; inevitably they ended badly, with Emma either inflicting harm upon his person or turning him over to the authorities. Or both.

“Possibly Henry would be more receptive,” he muttered under his breath. Henry was the truest believer, after all. But if Emma would react aggressively to a strange man approaching _her_ with wild tales of magic and curses, how much more forceful would she be towards that same man carrying those tales to her son? No, the boy would have to be a last resort. He must find a way to convince Emma.

“Perhaps a kiss…” suggested a small, hopeful voice in the back of his mind.

Killian thrust that thought away. Bad form, going about kissing women who had no clue who he was, but more than that, as a strategy it had no hope of success. His love for Emma may be the most powerful thing he had felt in all the long centuries of his life, but it was also unreciprocated. Killian was no expert on True Love magic, but he was certain that the feeling needed to be mutual in order for the kiss to work. Emma had never given any hint that she felt for him as he did for her.

“Hasn’t she?” persisted the small voice. “What about that time—” 

Images flashed through his mind. Emma grabbing him by the coat and kissing him breathless in Neverland. The hot look in her eye as she stood in his doorway on the journey home. When they had come within a heartbeat of devouring each other on the ladder in his quarters.

He shook his head. “She desires me, yes. That’s not enough.”

If only it could have been that simple, he thought grimly. If sex were all that was between them, then he wouldn’t be in this mess. He’d have fucked her then tossed her aside ages ago, and been on his merry way. But from the moment she’d leapt into the stormy sea in Neverland, Emma and the feelings she ignited in him had rendered such behaviour unthinkable, had altered his priorities beyond recognition until his physical desires were subsumed by the desire to be worthy of her love. Even now, faced with the immense challenges before him, he felt happier than he had in months, his heart soaring at the prospect of simply being near her once more. After nearly a year of believing that that could never happen again, he grasped with desperate fingers at even the tiniest sliver of hope that it might.

More images came unbidden to his mind, ones he had deliberately buried deep upon returning to the Enchanted Forest: Emma coming to him at Granny’s after he’d saved Belle from a flying monkey. When he’d comforted her after her fight with Bae. Her face when he’d bid her farewell… Perhaps he hadn’t imagined that her feelings for him had been deepening. Perhaps he did have cause to hope for more.

Only one thing was certain. He would do whatever was necessary to find a way to get to her, and to bring her memories back. There was nothing he wouldn’t risk to make that happen. Even a kiss.

 

*             *              *

 

He had no idea how long it had taken the bird to find him, or what the time scale on this latest curse was, so as the shoreline of Misthaven came into view, Killian approached with caution. He took out his spyglass and scanned the horizon for anything out of the ordinary. There was nothing. He scanned a second time. Still nothing.

He swung the _Jolly Roger_ around so that Misthaven’s coast was parallel with her starboard side, and allowed her to drift. Leaning against the rail, he scanned again with his spyglass, considering his options. He needed to stay close enough to see the curse coming, but not so close that he wouldn’t be able to get away in time to escape it. Presumably, it would travel at the same speed as the first one, and he clearly recalled how rapidly that magical cloud had rolled over the dome that Cora had cast to protect them. 

He scanned the horizon a fourth time before collapsing his spyglass with a irritated grunt. Standing here staring would do no good for anything. The curse would come when it came, and he needed to be prepared.

He went down into his cabin, and rummaged for a moment in his desk until he found his map of New York City. It still bore the marks he’d made indicating the path from where he’d docked the _Jolly Roger_ to Baelfire’s —Neal’s— residence. New York was by far the largest city Killian had seen in his travels, but its organisation was remarkably logical, and the grid-like system of its streets appealed to the navigator in him. Finding the residence had been far easier than he’d feared. Now he had something else to find.

During his first foray into the city he had been first surprised then appalled to observe the sartorial habits of the natives there, and their reactions to his clothing. They seemed to find his dashing attire amusing, and he’d had more than a few requests for “photographs” — portraits apparently made with light by the devices they called cameras. He hadn’t paid much attention at the time, his mind fixed on his goal of killing Rumpelstiltskin, but it occurred to him that things would go much more smoothly this time around if he could pass unnoticed in the crowds. Particularly as Emma was now for all intents and purposes one of those New York natives who had found him so jolly entertaining. The message he had would be difficult enough to convey without her being distracted by any oddity in his attire. Therefore he needed to acquire some clothing suitable for her realm, and to do that he would need some of the realm’s money. He doubted that New York establishments would be as amenable to accepting doubloons as those in Storybrooke had been.

He unfolded the map and scanned the advertisements that adorned its edges until he found the one he sought. It had caught his eye when he’d first looked at the map, and now he observed it more closely.

 

_Captain Cormorant’s_

_Antique Maps and Sailing Instruments_

_Pirate Relics_

_Bought and Sold_

 

Killian nodded in satisfaction. He was certain he had one or two items in the Jolly’s hold that would interest this Captain Cormorant exceedingly. He noted the address of the shop and marked it on his map. Next he scanned the ads again until he found one for something called a “Gentleman’s Outfitters.” The man in the accompanying picture was dressed in a manner that appealed to him much more than the clothing he had seen many people wearing on the streets of New York— trousers that did not even cover their legs, and the most appalling white shoes. “Sneakers,” Emma had called them. That would never do. He needed to blend in but he intended to do so whilst maintaining his standards. It was impossible to be devilishly handsome in white sneakers, even for him. He had said as much to Emma when she had defended the offending footwear.

_“Okay, maybe they’re not stylish, but they’re really comfortable! Good for running.”_

_“Running from what?”_

_“From nothing, you just, you know, run. For exercise.”_

_“Exercise?”_

_“Yeah, to stay in shape.”_

_“What shape would you need to stay in?”_

_She rolled her eyes at him. “Look, in this… realm… people don’t do physical labour that much. A lot of them just sit at a desk all day and they eat unhealthy food, so they have to do something to keep from getting fat. Like running.”_

_“Indeed, corpulence is not unknown in my realm, Swan, but I don’t think it would occur to anyone there to run around in hideous shoes_ _as a remedy for it.”  
_

_“You know, honestly, I get that. It’s not my favourite exercise either. I prefer the gym.”_

_“The where?”_

_“Dammit, Hook, can we talk about something else?”_

He smiled at the memory and was surprised to note that it brought no accompanying stab of pain. Now that he had hope of seeing Emma again, it was easier to think of her. Gingerly, he probed his memory for the moment he had buried the deepest, the moment when he had last felt this kind of hope, before everything had fallen to ruin and all his tentative dreams had shattered around him. 

He recalled himself sitting in a booth at Granny’s, eating her fried potatoes and the surprisingly fine meal that she called “fish filet sandwich”. He recalled Emma, appearing at the door, drawing a determined breath, and marching over to him.

_“Hook.”_

_“Good evening, Swan. Would you care to join me?”_

_She hesitated for a moment, then nodded and slid into the seat across from him._

_“Might I order you anything?”_

_“Oh, uh, no thanks, I’m not really hungry.”_

_He nodded, and watched as she fidgeted, her fingers toying with the corner of his paper napkin._

_“You appear troubled, love.”_

_“No, I—” she looked up and met his eyes. He raised his eyebrows at her, and the edges of her mouth quirked up. “I just— I wanted to thank you. Killian. For what you did this afternoon. You saved Belle’s life.”_

_His breath caught at her use of his name._

_“Truly the least I could do, after my past attempts to take it from her. Does that surprise you?” he asked, and was rewarded with a flash of heat from her eyes as she remembered the last time he’d asked her that question._

_“I guess it doesn’t, really, not anymore.” She smiled, the bright, warm, affectionate smile that she bestowed so rarely. It lit up his soul, as it always did. “You’ve changed a lot, these last couple months.”_

_“I have tried to do so.”_

_“I’ve noticed.”_

_He attempted to summon a cheeky grin, but found he couldn’t. Instead, he feared that the look on his face was embarrassingly unguarded, the hated colour already rising to his cheeks._

_Emma’s eyes filled with an emotion he didn’t dare put a name to. She reached across the table to take his hand.  
_

_“I really have noticed,” she said softly. “Everything you’ve been doing. I’ve seen it.”_

_Killian’s heart was racing and his mouth had gone dry. His fingers were tingling as he gently tightened their grip on hers._

_“Everything?” he asked, his voice rough._

_She nodded. “Yeah. Everything. Even the little things.” Colour rose in her face as well. “Especially the little things. I just— wanted you to know.”_

_He swallowed hard, and managed a weak smile._

_“Thank you, Emma. That— it means a lot to hear you say that.”_

_She nodded, and smiled again. “I’ve gotta go pick up Henry from Regina’s. But I’ll see you tomorrow?”_

_“Indeed you shall.”_

_“Goodnight, Killian.”_

_“Goodnight, love.”_

Killian had floated back to his ship that night on a cloud of hope.

And now that hope had returned. Losing it the last time had nearly killed him; he didn’t intend to let it go again. Seizing his resolve, he pushed away from the desk and went to his sea chest, opening it and rifling through the spare shirts, stockings, and vests until he located what he sought, hidden at the very bottom. He pulled it out, cradling it in his hand and caressing it with his thumb before bringing it briefly to his cheek and breathing in. Here was another thing he had not allowed himself to think about during the past year, choosing instead to bury it away. The memories it evoked had been unbearable. 

It was Emma’s grey tank top. The one she had worn in Neverland. The one she had been wearing when she kissed him. 

She’d left it behind on the _Jolly Roger_ when they’d returned to Storybrooke, and when Killian had found it, he’d been delighted. Here was the perfect excuse to seek her out, to see her again. He’d been halfway to the police station before he remembered his promise to Bae.

Killian had cursed all the way back to the Jolly.

Still, he'd intended to return the shirt, eventually. But then there had been the flying monkeys, and the discovery of the witch’s plan, and all the endless small crises that seemed always to be hitting Storybrooke and its residents, and before he knew how it happened, Killian had had the shirt for too long, and returning it would have been awkward. Emma didn’t seem to miss it, and he’d enjoyed seeing it in his sea chest every morning, alongside his own shirts.

So he’d kept it.

The first morning back in the Enchanted Forest, he’d opened his chest and the sight of the shirt had struck him as a physical blow, knocking him back on his heels and leaving him gasping for breath, chest aching, despair piercing his heart. The memories had assailed him, and he couldn’t bear it. He’d shoved the shirt to the bottom of the chest and stumbled from the room, retreating up to the deck to practice sword drills until his muscles ached and he was too exhausted to think about Emma, or the wreck and ruin of his life, or indeed anything at all. Deep in a haze of rum that evening, he’d briefly considered throwing the shirt overboard, then cursed his weakness when he couldn’t bring himself to break even that tiny, tenuous link to Emma. Now, as he wrapped the shirt around the small vial containing the locator spell and packed them both carefully into his satchel next to the map, he was grateful for that weakness. Far from being an instrument of torture, the shirt was now a symbol of his renewed hope. It would guide him back to her, back to her side, where he belonged.

 

*             *              *

 

The curse came just after nightfall. Killian had kept himself busy for the rest of the day by double- and triple-checking that everything was in order on his ship. He’d tightened the rigging, repaired several small tears in the sails, battened down everything he could, and jettisoned anything that wasn’t strictly necessary. They would need as much speed as they could muster.

By the time the magical cloud came rolling over the land of Misthaven and towards the sea, Killian was ready. 

“Here we go, love,” he whispered to his ship. “Let’s do this.” 

He spun the ship’s wheel around to set her course at a forty-five degree angle to the coastline of Misthaven, and watched as the Jolly adjusted her sails to catch every last scrap of wind that could propel them towards their destination. He could feel the magic coursing through her, could feel her sensing his wishes and striving to meet them.

“That’s my clever lass,” he said proudly, stroking her wheel. “Give me everything you’ve got.”

Killian had decided to head north by northwest in the direction of Arendelle, staying close to the coast rather than sailing out to the open sea where Blackbeard and other bothersome annoyances would doubtless be lurking. Keeping closer to the land would mean he’d need to move faster to escape the curse, but would be less likely to encounter unnecessary distractions.

He trained his spyglass aft across the Jolly’s starboard quarter, observing that the curse had already enveloped all the land, and was now rolling unchecked over the waves. By his reckoning, it was no more than half a league distant, and gaining fast. At their current speed, they could stay just ahead of it, but it would be a near thing. Arendelle’s main port lay twenty leagues’ distant on his current course, but the sea border that separated its territorial waters from the Enchanted Forest’s was much closer. Provided that he had correctly assessed the curse’s purview and limitations, then if he could make it across that border and into Arendellian waters, he should be safe.

 _Should be_ was narrower odds than he generally preferred, but he’d have to take what he could get.

The _Jolly Roger_ flew through the water, adjusting her sails continually to snatch up any gust or breeze that she could, Killian encouraging her efforts, allowing her to focus on speed whilst he maintained their course at the wheel. They operated together in effortless harmony and understanding, their centuries-long partnership allowing them to anticipate and accommodate each other’s needs without conscious thought. Another quick glance through his spyglass informed Killian that they had begun to pull ahead, putting some much needed distance between them and the curse. He had never loved his ship more.

“Just a bit further,” he encouraged, “a bit more to go. We’re nearly there.”

Suddenly, he was thrown back by some force he could not see, the wheel wrenched from his grasp and sent spinning, altering their course so abruptly that the ship was brought too roughly about, the unseen force attempting to pull her back towards the roiling cloud of magic. It had to be the curse, he thought, reaching out for them, trying to drag them back into its clutches. Evidently, it did not appreciate being outrun.

“Don’t you bloody dare!” snarled Killian, grabbing the wheel and pulling with all his might, struggling against the invisible power. The Jolly’s magic surged up, violently repelling the curse’s force, and Killian felt the curse release its hold on the wheel. Gathering his strength, he spun the wheel with his hook, putting all his body weight behind it, spinning himself around on his heel before grasping the wheel with his hand and yanking it around again, setting them back to their original course.

But now the curse was right behind them, and they had lost precious speed and momentum.

“Come on, lass,” whispered Killian, “Get us going again.”

Wind rushed into the ship’s sails, propelling her forward, the curse following hard behind, reaching for the Jolly’s stern with coiling tendrils of magic. Waves were surging up against the bow, spilling over the railings, trying to drive them back, and Killian’s muscles were rigid as iron as he braced his feet on the deck and his hands on the wheel, holding the ship steady through the gathering storm.

He could feel the Jolly’s grim anger and determination as strongly as his own. They would _not_ be brought to heel by any bloody curse. His ship gathered all the power of her enchantments and with an almighty heave pushed back against the curse, giving them the final boost they needed to break free of its power, and they burst across the sea border and into Arendellian waters.

Suddenly, the sea was calm, the sky bright with starlight and the breeze gentle. Killian spun around and saw the curse rising up against an invisible barrier, filling the space from the sea to the sky, beating with all its might against the greater force that restrained it.

Killian breathed a sigh of relief and collapsed against the wheel. He had been right; the curse was intended for the Enchanted Forest and could not surpass those borders. They were safe.

Once they had put what Killian judged to be sufficient distance between themselves and the border, he brought the ship to a stop and allowed her to drift gently with the current as he took stock of her condition. Considering the violence of the curse’s grasp and the storm it had raised, the Jolly had come through remarkably well, with only minor damage, easily repaired. Killian looked through his spyglass in the direction of Misthaven. The curse was beginning to dissipate. He would wait until the cloud had withdrawn completely, repair the _Jolly Roger_ and gather his own strength before testing the weakened boundaries between the worlds.

Some three hours later, as dawn was beginning to break over the snowy mountains of Arendelle, Killian and the _Jolly Roger_ were ready for their next impossible task.

“You know where to go, love,” murmured Killian. “Take us to her.”

Magic began to pour from the ship, forming a thick, grey mist that rose up and around her, darkening and swirling until pirate and ship were completely obscured. Then it blew lightly away on a soft sea breeze and they were gone. 

Killian opened his eyes and took in the sight of the tall, grey buildings of lower Manhattan. He took a deep breath, suddenly overwhelmed by all he'd done and all he had yet to do. He stood still and silent for a moment, trying to corral his unruly emotions and bring them under some semblance of control, but it was no use. Eagerness, hope, terror, and love were coursing through him with every heartbeat. Reaching into his satchel, he brushed his fingers over Emma’s shirt.

“I’m here, Swan,” he whispered.


	9. The Lost Year, Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian finds Emma in New York, now he just needs to get her to Storybrooke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had intended to take them to Storybrooke in this chapter, but it kind of got away from me so now that will have to wait for the next one. In the meantime, we have some flashbacks and lots of CS feels.

Killian stood before the door, looking at it. It was grey, with large green numbers.

“You’re sure this is it?” he asked Emma’s tank top, which did not reply because it was a shirt. “Talking to old clothing now, are you mate,” he muttered to himself, tucking the shirt into the pocket of his new jacket.

His day had gone remarkably well thus far. New York’s streets had been as chaotic and yet fundamentally logical as he’d remembered, and since he had also remembered to replace his hook with the wooden hand before setting out, he’d had fewer requests for photographs, though quite a fair number of curious looks. Finding Captain Cormorant’s had posed no challenge, and as Killian had expected the proprietor —whose name, he'd informed Killian, was not Captain Cormorant at all (of course not, Killian had scoffed to himself, absurd name for a pirate captain) but instead Frank Gunnarsen— had been delighted to purchase his trinkets, and had paid handsomely for them. Killian was certain he could have negotiated for far more, but he’d rather liked Frank Gunnarsen and also couldn’t spare the time to fleece him.

Next was the clothing shop, where Killian had been relieved to find no sign of any white sneakers, and had instead located some suitably dashing black boots, trousers, and leather jacket, with a dark grey waistcoat and a blue shirt with a subtle pattern, which he loved. The clothes were far more form-fitting than he was accustomed to, but he'd approved of the resulting image that preened back at him from the mirror. The shop assistant, who had been _exceedingly_ helpful, gaped slightly, and Killian couldn’t resist giving him a cocky smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“What do you think?” he'd asked. The young man had nodded, eyes wide. “G-good,” he'd replied. “It looks good.”

Killian had grinned at him. “I’ll take it all.”

And so now he stood in front of Emma’s door, dressed and coiffed and more anxious than he’d ever been, his heart in his throat and his palm sweating. He’d rehearsed what to say when she opened it, but he was so nervous that he genuinely had no idea what might come out of his mouth when he actually saw her.

He lifted his hand to knock, but before he could he heard a suspicion-laced voice from over his left shoulder.

“What do you want?” it said

He turned, and saw her. She was standing about three feet from him, her body posed defensively, ready to fight or run if necessary. She was dressed in her standard jeans and boots, with an ivory blouse and blue leather jacket that suited her. Her hair curled around her face, bright as sunshine; her green eyes were wary. She was utterly gorgeous, more beautiful than she’d been in his dreams, and for a moment he could only stare, drinking in the sight of her like a man dying of thirst, feeling her presence seep into the cracks in his heart and begin to heal them. He tried to speak, but his tongue was overcome by the confusion of his feelings.

Her eyes narrowed, awaiting his answer, and with an almighty effort he pulled himself together.

“Swan,” he said, “I know you don’t remember me, but —”

Something shifted in her expression, as if disparate things were clicking back together in her mind and she was trying to make sense of them. “Hook,” she whispered, eyes widening, staring at him like he’d just fallen from the moon.

He couldn’t believe his ears. “Emma?” he said, “Do you re—”

Emotion broke over her face and she stumbled slightly, dropping he bag she'd been holding. “Hook!” she choked, and he started forward, worried she might fall. Before he could take more than a step, she moved, launching herself into his arms, wrapping her own arms tight around his neck, her hair tickling his nose. "Hook," she whispered again, right in his ear, and a violent tremor ran through him. He caught her to him, holding her close, burying his hand and his face in her hair and breathing her in. Love and joy and longing were surging through him like tidal waves, powerful and terrifying. He knew he was holding her too tightly, but he couldn’t help himself, could barely even believe this was real. In no conceivable version of reality had he imagined such an outcome, and he wanted to sob with relief.

He had no idea how long they stood there; was aware only that Emma was here and she was letting him hold her and he wanted nothing more than to stay there with her in his arms forever. But finally she pulled away, looking up at him with soft green eyes and blinking back tears.

“You look different,” she said.

“New clothes.”

“Oh, yeah.” Her eyes raked over him, flashing with heat that shot straight to his groin. He wanted to snatch her back into his arms and devour her. “Looks good,” she said.

“Naturally,” he smirked, and she laughed.

“What are you doing here, Hook?”

“How is it that you remember me, Swan?” he countered. “Not that I’m complaining, but this is far from the reception I was expecting.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet. Maybe you’d better come inside, we have a lot to talk about.” He hesitated, and she understood immediately. “Henry’s at school, don’t worry.”

She unlocked the door and led him inside. He looked around, taking in the airy, open-plan living room and kitchen, full of green plants and comfortable furniture.

“I like your place,” he said.

“Oh, yeah, I think it was actually Regina who chose it, it was just kind of here waiting for us when we got to New York. But it’s a lot better than her usual taste in home furnishing, so…”

“Indeed.”

“Sit down, Hook. Can I get you a drink? It’s a bit early, but I have that rum you like.”

“It’s never too early for rum, love.”

She poured a glass for each of them and they sat on her sofa. Killian could barely take his eyes off her, didn’t want to take them off her, wanted to drink in the sight of the beautiful face he’d missed so desperately, listen to her voice, drown in her eyes. Emma flushed slightly under his gaze, and he dropped his eyes only to find them dragged back again moments later. She was like the magnetic north, and he a compass needle, unable to pull away. He realised that this was partly trepidation; he was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, to wake up suddenly and discover this was all a dream, or for her to turn into a siren and laugh at his foolishness in believing he could ever have her near him again. He clenched his hand around the glass to stop it reaching for her, pulling her back into his embrace and never letting go.

“So how did you—“ she began.

“No, Swan, you first. Tell me how it’s possible that you have your memories. The spell should have erased them completely.”

She nodded. “It did. For the last year, I thought that this was my life and always had been. I remembered living in Boston, raising Henry, then losing our apartment to a fire and deciding to move to New York for a fresh start. We had this place, and my job, and Henry’s school, it was all normal. It was good. But then all of a sudden yesterday I started remembering.”

“Started?”

“Yeah,” she chuckled. “It was actually… well it was actually kinda you that started it.”

“Me?”

“I was watching TV last night, and there was this preview for a live action Peter Pan musical, and out of nowhere I thought ‘Boy, Hook would be pissed if he saw the way they’re portraying him,’ and then I just— started to remember.” she looked over at him, and smiled slightly at the expression on his face. “What?”

He was grinning ear to ear, in pure enjoyment.

“Nothing, really. It’s just that after a year in the Enchanted Forest I’m quite enjoying understanding only half of what you say again. I missed it.”

“You missed not understanding me?”

“I missed _you_ , Swan,” he said, giving her that intense look of his that always sent a bolt of heat straight to her core. Emma knew that her cheeks had gone pink and barely resisted the urge to squirm. Apparently a year apart hadn’t made her any better atcontrolling her body’s reaction to him, she thought wryly.

She realised that they were staring into each other’s eyes, and quickly broke the connection, returning to her story.

“So after that it all came back, not all at once, but sort of gradually throughout the day today, and I wasn’t sure if I should believe it or if I was going crazy. Then I saw you at my door, and well, now I’m sure.”

“And what about the lad?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t say anything to him, but…”

“But if you’ve remembered, maybe he has too.”

“Yeah, but he’s probably not sure if _I’ve_ remembered.”

“Aye, and he wouldn’t want to ask you, lest you think _him_ crazy. That is a conundrum.”

“But I don’t understand any of this, Hook. Why did my memories come back? How are you here? What happened?”

He thought for a moment before replying. “I would imagine that your memories returned when Storybrooke did. It was a spell that wiped them in the first place not a curse, and the spell was tied to Storybrooke. With the town gone, you couldn’t remember it, but once it was back, well…”

“Then I’d remember again. But you mean to say that Storybrooke is back? How?”

“There was a second Dark Curse, cast yesterday evening.”

“What? How do you know?”

He stared for a moment into the golden brown liquid in his glass, then took a deep swig. “I was out on the sea yesterday morning, heading back towards your parents’ kingdom, when a bird landed on my ship’s wheel. It had note and a vial of potion tied to its leg. The note informed me that a second curse was coming, one that would return everyone to Storybrooke. I was instructed to use the locator spell in the vial to find you and bring you home.”

“And you know for sure that the curse was cast?” 

“Aye, I was there off the coast of the kingdom when it hit. I had quite a job to outrun it.”

“You outran a curse?” She couldn’t keep the note of skepticism from her voice.

He shot her a cocky grin that somehow still contrived to look a bit bashful.

“I’m a hell of a captain.”

She flushed, the quiet confidence in his deep voice causing heat to flood her core again, but before she could reply, she heard the sound of the door opening.

“That’s Henry,” said Emma, “Let me do the talking.”

Henry came into the room as they were scrambling to their feet. He looked from one to the other, confusion and curiosity on his face.

“Uh, hey kid, this is uh, my friend. He’s here visiting. His name’s Killian.”

“Oh, uh, hello, um, Killian,” said Henry, clearly trying to be polite but underneath it there was  _something_ , the same things-clicking-into-place expression that Emma's face had worn, and Killian decided to take the risk.

“Ahoy, lad,” he said. “You can still call me Hook, if you prefer.”

Emma shot Killian an annoyed look, then glanced anxiously at Henry.

Happiness and relief burst on the boy’s face.

“You guys remember!” he cried.

Emma released a sigh of relief, then smiled at her son.

“Yeah, kid, we remember. Do you?”

“I remember it all. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t know if _you_ remembered. I’m sorry, didn’t mean to lie by omission.” His face twisted with worry. Henry had learned about lying by omission in school last week, and ever since he’d been anxious to avoid accidentally doing it.

Guilt pierced Emma’s heart, and she went quickly over to him, and hugged him close.

“I’m sorry too, Henry, I should have said something when I remembered, but I didn’t know if _you_ remembered.”

“Well we all remember now, so can we please stop saying ‘remember’?” interjected Killian, trying to lighten the mood.

Mother and son shot him identical exasperated looks, and he grinned at them.

Henry squeezed Emma tightly before recalling that he was almost a teenager and pulling away.

“So is Storybrooke back? Are we going back there?” he asked.

“Yeah, it is, and I think we have to,” replied Emma, slightly hesitantly, not sure how he’d react.

His face broke into a huge grin. “Awesome, I’m gonna go pack. I can’t wait to see Grandma and Grandpa again. And Mom, and Archie, and Pongo, and Belle and _everyone_!” He turned towards his room then paused, turned back, and ran over to Killian, giving him a brief hug. “You too, Hook. It’s good to see you again,” he said.

Killian swallowed, emotion overcoming him once more. “And you, lad,” he said gruffly.

Henry pulled back, looking at him closely, taking in the changes to his attire. “But… why are you dressed like that?”

Killian laughed and ruffled his hair. “I see you’re still a little spitfire.”

Henry grinned and ran off to his room.

“Don’t pack too much, or we won’t be able to fit it all in the bug,” Emma called after him.

Killian turned to look at her, his heart overflowing at the look on her face as she watched her son. At this rate, he was going to be a quivering mass of pure emotion by nightfall, he thought wryly.

“Hmm, Emma,” he said cautiously.

“What?” She turned back to look at him.

He scratched nervously behind his ear. “I don’t think we have time to make the journey in your vehicle. The note I received stressed the need for urgency, and it’s already taken me nearly a day to find you.”

She looked nonplussed. “Okay, so how are we supposed to get there?”

“My ship.”

“The _Jolly Roger_ is here? In New York?”

“Aye. She’s been here before, if you recall.”

Emma did.

“She’s the fastest means of travel at our disposal,” Killian continued, “With fair winds we can be in Storybrooke in just a few hours.”

“Well, okay, I guess. I kinda hate to leave the bug here, but your ship is definitely faster. And there’s no traffic on the water.”

“Then we are agreed. We should depart within the hour.”

She nodded. “I’ll go pack then.”

Emma headed for her bedroom, and Killian sank back down on her sofa. He picked up his glass of rum and drained it dry. After a moment, he picked up Emma's glass and drained that too. He'd been through a hell of a lot over the past twenty-four hours, and there was more to come, he reasoned. He was going to need all the reinforcements he could get. 

                                    

Emma shut her bedroom door and collapsed against it, trying to slow her racing heart. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror, noting her flushed cheeks and still-damp eyes, and gave herself a mental shake.

“Pull it together, Swan,” she scolded herself.

She was going to need a minute, or maybe a year, to recover from this. Hook, here in New York, in her apartment, looking bone-meltingly gorgeous in modern clothes, talking casually about outrunning curses and sailing her to Storybrooke in his pirate ship.

How was it possible that he was even sexier than she remembered? Was it the clothes? She’d always been a bit embarrassed about being so attracted to him in his pirate getup, but now he was dressed in an outfit that wouldn’t be out of place on any urban man his age (the age he appeared to be, at least), and yet he was still unquestionably a pirate, still inimitably himself.

Still obscenely fucking hot, thought Emma, almost angrily. Although her memories had been coming back gradually over the past day, she hadn’t felt the emotional impact of them until she’d seen him standing in her hallway, about to knock on her door. The surge of joy and lust and _something else_ that her mind refused to examine too closely had overwhelmed her, and before she knew what she was doing she’d found herself in his arms, clinging to him as tightly as she could and fighting back tears as they had closed around her in a grip that was almost painful, and she’d felt him tangling his fingers in her hair.

She felt so safe when he held her, like she could just lean into him and let him take care of her, like she didn’t have to do everything all by herself anymore.

She remembered the last time they had been like that, arms tight around each other, comfort flowing between them. She tried to tamp down the memory, but it rose up despite her efforts, and she was swept along.

 

_Storybrooke, 14 months previously_

She’d just finished lunch with Neal and Henry, in what had become a weekly tradition in the two months since they’d come back from Neverland, even though they were under constant threat from the mysterious witch, even despite how uncomfortable it still made her. Seeing Henry so happy to spend time with his parents made _her_ happy, almost happy enough to drown the discomfort she felt whenever Neal tried to push her for more. It was just co-parenting, she told herself. They were doing it for Henry, and if she continued to restrict their interactions to those lunches and the occasional pick-up or drop-off, then he would eventually get the message that she wasn’t interested in anything else.

But it had been weeks and he still he didn’t seem to be getting that message.

As they left Granny’s and Henry bounded off to visit Regina, Neal had grabbed her arm before she had a chance to head for the station.

“Can we talk, Ems?”

Immediately she was tense, defensive, folding her arms across her chest, walls up.

“What do you want to talk about?”

Neal looked around nervously.

“It’s kinda not a conversation to have out in the open. Can we go someplace private? My room’s right upstairs.”

There was no way in hell Emma was going to his room with him, but they needed to have this out. If Neal couldn’t take a damn hint then she would have to be more blunt, and now that he’d brought it up, she was too angry to wonder if this was a good idea.

“Not your room,” she said. “But we can go upstairs.”

They headed around the corner to the back door, and up the stairs into the B&B’s common living area. Neal sat on the sofa, but Emma preferred to remain standing.

“What’s this about, Neal?”

“I wanted to talk about us.”

“There is no ‘us.’”

“Maybe not now, but I was kind of hoping there could be? Someday? You and me and Henry? We could get away from here, maybe go to New York…”

“Leave my family, you mean. The family I only just found.”

“Well, we could come back to visit them. Lots of families don’t live close.”

“I lived apart from my parents for _twenty-eight years_.”

Neal looked down at his hands, and didn’t reply.

Emma sighed. “And what would we do in New York? Live together?”

He looked up, a hopeful expression on his face.

“As what? Roommates? Lovers? You want to be boyfriend and girlfriend again?”

“We could just see how things go.”

“See how things go?” she repeated, anger rising in her voice. “I can already tell you how things are going to go, Neal. Henry and I are staying in Storybrooke, I am going to continue getting to know my parents, and if you want to be a part of that, that’s fine, but you are Henry’s father to me and _nothing more_ , is that clear?”

Neal’s expression turned bitter, and anger edged his voice as well.

“So you can’t forgive me, then.”

The fucking nerve of him. Fury raced through her, making her magic bristle under her skin as she barely held back from lashing out with it. “How can I forgive you when you don’t even seem _sorry_ about what you did!? All you’ve ever said is that you ‘didn’t have a choice’, and you act like I’m in the wrong because I can’t just let it go!”

“Well, I _didn’t_ have a choice!”

“You _did_ have a choice! You could have stayed with me, stuck by me, like I would have stuck by you! You could have told me who you were! We could have stayed together, gone to Storybrooke together, and I could have broken the curse more easily because I would have believed! And we would have had Henry the whole time, raised him together, watched him grow up! You didn’t ditch me because you had no choice, Neal, it’s because you were scared.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Yes, scared! Scared of seeing your father again, scared of facing up to who you were. And that fear was bigger than your feelings for me. I know I said I loved you, when you went through the portal and in the Echo Caves, and I suppose in some way I still do, but more than anything else I’m angry with you! I’m still so angry and I don’t think I can stop if you don’t acknowledge what you did to me. I need to hear that you know how badly you hurt me, how you made it hard for me to trust anyone again and hard to believe that anyone could love me. Even now, Hoo— _people_ are being hurt because I can’t open up to them. I need you to acknowledge that before I can forgive you.”

“You can’t forgive me without it?”

“No, because you’re not sorry. I need to know that you understand what you did, and that you’re fucking sorry for it.”

Neal’s jaw was clenched, his expression as angry as her own.

“I am sorry, Ems, but not for my decision. It was the only decision I could make, whether you believe that or not. I’m only sorry for how you feel about it, that you can’t get past it after a fucking decade. And I don’t give a damn if _Hook_ ” —he spat out the name— “gets his feelings hurt because you’re still holding a grudge against me. Goddamn it, Emma, this had better not be about him.”

“It’s not—”

“Because he may be hot for you, but you know he doesn’t actually care, right? Once he gets what he wants from you, he’ll be gone.” Neal gave a bitter laugh. “Maybe you should just fuck him, then he’d leave and we could all go on with our lives.”

“I am _not_ going to—”

“I should have known you weren’t any different. You’re just like my mother, leaving me for that… that…”

“I am not _leaving you_ , for Hook or anyone else!” Emma was shouting now. “I can’t _leave you_ because we are _not together_! We haven’t been together since _you_ left _me_ , and we are _never_ going to be again! If you can’t accept that, then _you_ go, but _I_ am staying here and so is Henry!”

She spun on her heel and stormed out of the B&B, not looking back, even as Neal called her name.

 

Emma got into her bug and slammed the door, then pounded the steering wheel with her fists. She was still furious, far too angry to go back to the station. She knew David was there, and she really did not want her father asking any questions about Neal or why she was so pissed. She still hadn’t told her parents about the details of Neal leaving her, of the watches or the reason she’d been in jail when Henry was born. She was just so used to not talking about it, and still not sure if she’d be able to open up so much to her parents. Especially as she knew Mary Margaret still held out hope for a “happy ending” for Emma and Neal. Especially as she could see how anxious her parents were getting about all the time Emma was spending with Hook.

Hook. Ever since that intense, charged moment on the _Jolly Roger_ when she’d berated him for avoiding her and they’d come within a whisper of making a huge mistake, he’d been a steady, constant, oddly comforting presence in her life. He had willingly joined in their efforts to work out what was behind the sudden appearance of flying monkeys, and it had been his research along with Belle’s that had eventually cracked the mystery. He and Belle were almost friends now, of all the impossible things, and even though he still hated Gold, he no longer gave any overt sign of it. He truly had given up his revenge. If it weren’t for the smirks and the occasional filthy innuendo, Emma would have had a hard time believing that he was the same man she had climbed the beanstalk with less than a year before.

And then there were all the other things, the small, seemingly unimportant things he did that taken individually didn’t mean much but when she considered them all together made Emma’s chest feel warm and tight. Like how he met her every morning on her way to work with a cup of coffee and a bear claw, and walked with her, chatting about nothing, asking her questions and seeming genuinely fascinated by the answers. Or when she was stressed and had to work late, and he showed up at the station with grilled cheese and onion rings, and made her laugh until the tension drained from her shoulders, then helped her organise her paperwork. Who would have thought a pirate would be so good at admin?

“Naval officer training,” he’d replied when she asked him about it. “It never really leaves you.”

He taught Henry sword fighting, and took him sailing, and after every outing delivered him back to Emma with a fond smile that made her certain he was spending time with her son because he wanted to and not for any ulterior motive. In fact, he seemed to have no ulterior motives at all, which baffled her. She knew he still wanted her, badly, she could see it in his eyes and on his face and hear it in the hitch in his breath when she stood too near him. He wore his heart on his sleeve, but he never made a move. Part of her, the part that had challenged him that day on the Jolly, was getting annoyed, wondering when that _fun_ he had promised in Neverland was finally going to begin, but the larger, softer part was enjoying their slowly simmering relationship. She could feel him chipping away at her walls, insinuating himself in her life so that it was getting harder and harder to imagine it without him. She knew somehow that this was his game, to win her with softness rather than sex, and she knew that it was working. She was softening, opening up to him more and more, and while that terrified her, she also desperately wanted it.

She wanted it now, in fact. She was furious and frustrated and the only person she wanted to talk to about it was Hook. She wanted to see his blue eyes light up when he caught sight of her, wanted him to charm a laugh out of her, to make her forget about Neal, and more than anything she wanted him to listen, to understand her as he always did and as no one else ever could, to comfort her with his solid presence and his warm smile that was full of affection for her. She was coming to crave that smile.

As if she had summoned him with her magic (she hadn’t, had she? She still wasn’t completely certain how this magic business worked) he suddenly appeared, emerging from the library and heading down the street in her direction. As he approached, she could see that he seemed caught up in his thoughts, his brow furrowed slightly, yet he still moved with that liquid swagger that made her thighs clench. She reached over and jerked the passenger door open.

“Hook!” she called.

He leaned down, his expression clearing and his eyes warming as he smiled the smile sheso badly needed to see.

“Swan,” he replied.

“Get in the car.”

His expression clouded slightly as he picked up on her mood, but he did as she asked without hesitation.

Emma drove them to the docks, where they sat on a bench and looked out at the sea. Or at least, Hook looked at it, while Emma glared at the clenched fists in her lap and tried to sort through her roiling thoughts.

“The sight of the sea always calms me,” remarked Hook. “You seem like you could use some calm, love. Perhaps you might give it a go?”

Emma’s eyes flicked up and she sat for a moment watching the waves curl gently and the fishing boats bob in the distance, while seagulls circled and swooped. He was right, it was calming. She took a several deep breaths.

“I had a fight with Neal,” she said.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, oh. He keeps trying to… get back with me, or something, I don’t know. He suggested moving to New York. Like Henry and I can just pack up and go with him, like I’d go _anywhere_ with him after what he did. Like I _could_.”

“What did he do?” asked Hook. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, I gather that the memories are painful for you, but sometimes talking about painful memories makes them less so.”

Emma looked up at him, at the soft, concerned expression in his eyes, and took the plunge. She knew she could trust him, _wanted_ to trust him with this painful piece of her past. He listened without comment, his face carefully neutral, although his hand clenched into a fist when she got to the part where she was arrested, his knuckles turning white and standing out vividly against the silver and red of his rings.

When she finished, tears were rolling down her cheeks and she realised that she was gripping his hook, and had been for some time. Gathering her courage, she looked up at his face, noting the barely controlled rage flashing in his eyes, the muscle ticking in his jaw, his throat working as he swallowed hard. She watched as he carefully reined in his anger, tamping it down and laying it aside, drawing several deep, calming breaths before finally meeting her gaze.

Wordlessly, he lifted his hook arm, looping it over her shoulders before reaching over and closing his hand over both of hers, where they still gripped the hook. Gently, he tightened his hold until she was cradled close against his side, cocooned in the warmth of his embrace. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and felt him lay his cheek on her hair. With a deep sigh and a slight hum, Emma relaxed into him and snuggled closer. His breath hitched and his arms tightened, but he said nothing.

She didn’t know how long they sat like that, only knew that this was exactly what she had needed, this solid, unwavering support, his strong arms protecting her, comfort and peace flowing through her.

Finally, he spoke. “I’m so sorry, Emma,” he said, his voice gravelly with emotion. “So very sorry for what you’ve suffered. I wish I... If I could—” he broke off abruptly.

“If you could what?” she asked, leaning back to look up at him and giving him a small smile.

He returned it, his own smile full of sadness and longing and _something else_ that she didn’t want to think about. “Nothing, love,” he replied.

 

Back in the present, Emma shook herself to clear the memories from her head. She could hear Henry and Hook’s voices in the living room, and knew she had to hurry and get packed. Quickly, she took out a duffel bag and began tossing clothes into it, paying little attention to the things she grabbed. She hurried to her bathroom and swept her toiletries haphazardly into a bag, which she tossed on top of the clothes, then zipped the duffel shut. The last thing she did was reach into the back of her closet and retrieve the red leather jacket she hadn’t worn in a year. She slipped it on, tugged her hair free, and set her shoulders. She was ready to go back to Storybrooke.


	10. The Lost Year, Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian, Emma, and Henry sail to Storybrooke as Emma's memories become clearer. What will they find when they arrive?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of Captain Book wrote itself into this chapter.

Emma drove them to where the _Jolly Roger_ was moored, and after a bit of searching managed to find a dark alleyway between two warehouses to stash her bug. She felt uncomfortable just leaving the car there, but as Hook had pointed out, the Jolly was much faster and she was in a hurry to get back to Storybrooke and find out what the heck was up.

Henry was bubbling with excitement, eager to see how much of his sailing lessons he could remember. Like Emma, his memories had been trickling in gradually, and neither of them were completely sure that they had everything back.

Henry raced aboard the ship, shouting enthusiastically, pointing out all the things he remembered. Hook followed, laughing, calling out encouragements and questions that the boy eagerly answered.

“I guess I’ll take care of the bags, then,” muttered Emma under her breath.

Hook heard her, though, and turned back, laughter still on his face. “My apologies, Swan,” he said, his eyes warm as they met hers, “Allow me to assist you.”

His expression made Emma’s heart stutter in her chest. He looked so happy, lighter and freer than she could remember seeing him. He snagged her duffel with his hook, tossing it over his right shoulder, then picked up Henry’s bag with it.

“Is that everything, love?” he asked, grinning at her.

Emma nodded, feeling herself smile back at him. His joy was infectious, and she suddenly felt far more optimistic about this journey. 

Hook turned and headed for the ship while Emma went to stash the car. When she got back to the _Jolly Roger_ , Henry and Hook were busily engaged in preparing her to set sail. Emma watched them for a few minutes, enjoying the way they interacted. Hook skilfully guided and instructed Henry, full of praise when the boy did something right and quick to correct any mistakes. His tone was firm and authoritative but also patient, giving orders in a way that made it clear they were absolutely to be followed, but also encouraging the boy to ask why. He addressed each of Henry’s avalanche of questions with concise but thorough answers, helping him understand how everything they did was required for the ship to function properly. Henry hung on his every word and did exactly as he was told. Emma shook her head in disbelief. Her son, the budding rebel and natural negotiator, following orders without hesitation. She’d seen it with her own eyes or she’d never have believed it. Hook really was a hell of a captain.

She remembered him telling her once that he’d been only twenty when he took command of his ship and her crew. It must have taken some kind of leadership skills to get a seasoned naval crew to follow such a young captain, mused Emma. They’d followed him into piracy, then they’d followed him into Neverland. If he’d been with them the way he was with Henry, she could understand why. Hook was more than just a man that others feared to cross, he was also one they wanted to lead them.

She watched as he ruffled her son’s hair, and Henry flushed with pleasure at his praise.

_He’d make a good father._

“Whoa, whoa!” she thought, almost saying the words aloud. Where the hell had _that_ come from?

Suddenly her mind was flooded with images: Killian cradling a dark haired baby girl in his arms, looking at her with awe and fierce, consuming love, teaching her swordfighting and sailing, reading her a bedtime story, playing princess tea party with her…

Emma gripped the ship’s railing as her knees went weak. What was _wrong_ with her? She had never thought of Killian that way before— well, hardly ever—okay, maybe quite a lot— but now was certainly not the time for it, when they didn’t even know what to expect from the next few hours, let alone days or weeks or years into the future. A future with Killian Jones… that prospect should not be so damned appealing, not when she had so much else to think about.

Firmly, she pushed away those dangerous images and instead focused on reviewing her memories of the events in Storybrooke leading up to the spell that had wiped out the town and sent her and Henry to New York.

 

_Storybrooke, ~15 months previously_

Emma arrived at Granny’s with Mary Margaret to discover that Hook and David were already there, sitting together in the corner booth, deep in conversation. 

She took a minute to reflect on the odd companionship that had somehow developed between her father and the pirate he’d previously despised. Although David still bristled when Hook flirted with Emma and made his disapproval of the time they spent together abundantly clear to her, he seemed to enjoy Hook’s company for himself, and was coming to rely more and more on the other man’s skills with planning and strategy. As for Hook, he was still quick with a dig or a sarcastic “Dave” when others were watching, but Emma could see that underneath it he respected her father and valued his opinion.

Mary Margaret was a different story. Her mouth thinned when she saw the two men, and Emma sighed internally. She couldn’t be dealing with this right now.

“Any news?” she asked, sliding into the booth next to Hook, leaving Mary Margaret to sit next to her husband with a grim look on her face.

“Another flying monkey sighting, at the northeast corner of the woods,” David replied. “That’s the second one this month. When we got there it was the same as the others, no evidence of anything wrong, just that low humming sound and all-around weird feeling.”

“‘Weird feeling’ is not much to go on,” said Emma.

“You’ve felt it yourself, do you have a better word for it?”

“No,” said Emma, “I’m just saying. Belle’s been researching for weeks now and I wish we could give her something more to work with than ‘weird feeling.’”

“Something will break in our favour soon,” said David reassuringly. “It has to.”

Just then, Belle burst into the diner, followed closely by Neal. They both looked distraught, Belle clearly fighting back tears.

“What is it?” cried Emma.

Belle sobbed.

“It’s my father,” Neal replied. “He’s missing.”

 

 _Aboard the_ Jolly Roger

Emma glanced over at Henry, realising that this was the first time she had thought of Neal since her memories had started to come back. Henry hadn’t mentioned him either, thoughhe’d spoken eagerly of most of the rest of his family and friends. She wondered why.

Henry was standing at the ship’s wheel, watching as Killian steered her. Killian seemed to be telling him the story of how he’d escaped the curse. Emma listened for a moment, wondering how much of the tale was true. It seemed unbelievable, even for a story about curses in fairytale lands, though her superpower was telling her that every word was the truth. But surely the curse hadn’t actually tried to _catch_ him?

She pushed away from the railing and went over to them.

“Are you sure about that, Hook?” she asked, a bit archly. “The curse reached out for you? Really?”

“Aye, love, I was surprised by that myself. The first Dark Curse certainly didn’t seem to do anything of the sort. It just… rolled over everything. But I assure you, this one was different. It actively chased us, attempted to slow us down and to grab hold of my ship.”

Emma frowned. “That seems… odd.”

“It does indeed. One of the many mysteries I hope will be solved once we reach Storybrooke.”

 

_Storybrooke_

A search of the pawn shop revealed definite signs of a struggle. The glass fronts of several of the cases were smashed, items were strewn all over the floor, the wall safe was open, its door hanging by one hinge, and there were several books and bits of paper flung about.

“Rumpel was helping me with some research,” Belle explained, having regained some of her composure. “He thought that the ‘weird feeling’ you described was something to do with the magic in Storybrooke, and so he was going through some of his books and notes to see if he could find out exactly what. He must have found something because he called me at the library and told me to come over right away. We were still on the phone when I heard the monkeys attack him.”

Neal’s jaw clenched, and he surveyed the room with a sullen, angry expression. “How could they just have taken him?” he asked. “He’s the freaking Dark One. Who could do that?”

“And why?” added David. “That’s the big question.”

“Belle,” said Emma, taking the other woman’s hand, “I know how hard this is, but do you think you could put Gold’s notes back together and try to figure out what he wanted to tell you? David’s right. If we’re going to find him, we need to know more about why he was taken in the first place.”

Belle sniffed, then nodded. “I will,” she said. “For Rumpel.”

 

_Aboard the_ Jolly Roger

"Would you mind taking the helm for a while, lad?" asked Killian. 

Henry's eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Aye." Killian smiled at the eagerness on the boy's face. "She's set on her course so all you have to do is maintain it. Should be easy enough, but you call out if you see anything amiss, understood?"

"Aye aye, sir!" said Henry, and Killian laughed. 

He was halfway down the ladder to his quarters when he sensed Emma's eyes on him. Looking up, he saw that she was watching him with an expression that made his heart thunder in his chest and strengthened the little tendrils of hope that curled around it.  Any other time, he would have invited her to accompany him, taken the opportunity to flirt and tease her, but he needed privacy for what was about to do. There would be time later to spend with Emma, the _Jolly Roger_ had seen to that. Now he needed to be alone with his ship.

 

_Storybrooke_

The next morning, they all met back at the pawn shop.

“What did you learn?” asked Emma.

“Not much,” Belle replied. “I got Rumpel’s notes in order, but they don’t make much sense. He uses his own shorthand. I did figure out that he had been reading these books,” she gestured to a tall pile on the table in front of her, “and from what he wrote in his notes about them it looks like they hold the answers he was seeking, but they’re written in a language I’ve never seen before,” she explained.

Hook glanced at the book on the top of her pile.

“That’s Old Arendellian,” he said

“Old… what?” said Belle, taken aback.

“Arendellian. It’s the language that was spoken in Arendelle for centuries, still is in some places, though they mostly speak the Common Tongue of the Enchanted Forest there now,” replied Hook, in an offhand tone. He picked up the top book and began leafing through it, an expression of boyish pleasure breaking over his face, completely failing to notice the expressions of shock and disbelief breaking over everyone else’s.

“Are you… can you… read that?” asked Belle

“Aye. I learned Old Arendellian —or just Arendellian, as it was then— in the Naval Academy. Arendelle was a major ally of my kingdom, and of course at the time it was their primary language of communication. I studied many languages, but that one was a particular favourite.”

Belle’s mouth was actually hanging open now, while David and Mary Margaret both looked like they’d been struck sharply upside the head with a blunt object. Neal just looked furious, and resentful.

“I’m conversant in all eight dialects, although the one from the Far Northern region has a peculiar accent I never did quite master. It had some rather challenging diphthongs,” Hook continued, with a reminiscent chuckle.

Emma felt hot and unsteady, her breathing suddenly shallow and her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She knew her cheeks were flushed and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, trying to relieve the sudden throbbing sensation between her thighs. She was almost used to being surprised by the things he knew and had experienced, but Hook the scholar and linguist was not something she could _ever_ have anticipated and she was shocked by how hard it turned her on. How did he keep _doing_ this to her, she thought crossly. Every new layer of this irritating man was hotter than the last.

“Although I don’t imagine the dialects would come into play here, as these books all seem to be written in the standard language,” concluded Hook. He looked up, and seemed startled by the expressions on their faces.

No one spoke. Hook turned slightly pink and scratched behind his ear.

“I could… help you, if you like,” he said cautiously to Belle. “Translate the books, try to identify what the Dark One discovered in them.”

Belle remained silent, her mouth moving but no words coming out.

Hook tried again. “I know we… got off on the wrong foot, you might say,” he began.

“You tried to kill her!” exclaimed Mary Margaret.

“Twice,” added David.

“There were extenuating circumstances,” Hook snapped, eyes flashing angrily, before he quickly got hold of himself and took a deep breath. He looked at Belle. “Of course you have no reason to trust me,” he said, “But truly, I can help.”

Belle said nothing, astonishment and disbelief still etched on her features.

“I’m surprisingly good at research,” said Hook, almost desperately. “You may not believe this, but I was quite the swot at the Academy.”

Belle finally found her voice. “I believe it,” she choked.

 

 _Aboard the_ Jolly Roger

Henry had grown tired of watching the sea, and had settled himself down on a pile of rope, playing a game on his phone. Emma stood next to Killian at the wheel. She glanced over at him, noting that the happiness she’d seen on his face earlier had returned. He'd seemed so grim when he made his mysterious trip to his quarters that she'd been worried, but now he stood next to her, lost in his thoughts, a slight smile curving his lips. She wanted to kiss that smile, to trace its outline with her tongue before coaxing his lips apart and ravishing his mouth with her own. She remembered his taste, vividly. Of all the memories that had reassembled themselves in her head over the past day, the strongest and easiest to recall were always of him. She remembered how often she had replayed their one kiss in her head, how she had lain in her bed in her parents’ loft fantasising about the hundreds of ways she wanted to take his mouth, and all the filthy things she’d like to do to with hers on the rest of him.

She shoved her hands in her jeans pockets to stop them reaching for him.

“What are you thinking about?” she couldn’t help asking.

He smiled at her, and her heart danced.

“I was actually thinking that I’m quite looking forward to seeing Storybrooke again,” he admitted, a bit bashfully. “I stayed well away from everyone in the Enchanted Forest, keeping to the seas and the coasts, where I was more accustomed to being. It felt wrong to seek them out and disrupt their attempts to rebuild their lives there. But I confess I missed one or two of them.”

“David?” she teased.

“Hah. I did come to enjoy the prince’s company far more than I could once have imagined possible, but as it happens I was thinking of Belle.”

 

_Storybrooke_

Killian and Belle worked steadily over the next several weeks, spending each morning at the library translating the Arendellian texts and working through Rumpelstiltskin’s notes, attempting to find connections between them, to put together the pieces of the puzzle they could clearly see was there.

At first, Belle was wary, sharp, and skeptical of every idea he put forward. Killian didn’t blame her; their interactions in the past gave her no incentive to treat him with anything other than disdain. In fact, he thought, disdain was probably better than he deserved. For his part, he didn’t try to push, didn’t attempt to deflect her anger with any of his usual tricks. Instead, he kept his head down, did his work, and made sure to offer ample evidence to back up any new idea he proposed. Gradually, Belle softened, listened more readily, and stopped starting in fear every time he moved. One morning, she actually smiled at him when he arrived at the library. The next morning he tentatively offered her a cup of coffee and she accepted. The following day he dared to crack a joke, and she laughed. The day after that, she called him Killian, and he actually had to blink back tears. He’d been Hook for so long that unearthing Killian felt like rediscovering an old friend he’d thought long dead. He hadn’t had many friends in his life. He wondered if that was the reason Belle was starting to feel like one. Of course, he could be misreading the situation entirely. He wasn’t sure he even knew what friendship felt like.

Roughly a week later, a week they had spent in easy companionship, working well together and making steady progress, they were sitting quietly absorbed in reading when Belle suddenly laid down her book and looked at him with an odd, determined expression.

“Can I ask you something, Killian?”

Killian dragged his attention away from a description of ancient Arendellian ice wizards and their theories on realm jumping. “Of course, lass,” he said with a smile.

Belle looked slightly uncomfortable. “I— you don’t have to answer if you don’t want, but, I just wondered… you pursued your revenge against Rumpel for over two hundred years…”

Killian tensed, wondering where this was going. “Aye.”

“I just wondered— how? You held that hate in your heart for so long, but… that doesn’t seem like you. At least, not the you I’ve come to know over the past few weeks. I can’t imagine you, this you, hitting me in the Queen’s castle or shooting me at the town line. Then you saw me only as a means to an end, but you clearly don’t think like that anymore. And now you’re actually working _with_ me to help save the man you spent centuries hating. What’s changed?”

The question surprised Killian, although it was one he had been pondering quite a lot himself since they’d returned from Neverland.

He thought carefully for several long moments, and finally, he spoke. “It’s a funny thing about Neverland,” he said, “The years that pass there, you live them, but they don’t change you. You gain experiences but not the maturity that should accompany them. It’s a place that preserves youth, both of body and of mind. I went there determined to avenge a wrong that had happened just days before, and I’ve come to realise that the island preserved that determination along with the fresh hatred and anger I felt in the same way that it preserved my appearance of youth. I don’t believe I could have held on to them otherwise. Certainly, I’ve come to feel very differently about my quest during the time I’ve spent in Storybrooke.”

Killian raised his eyes and looked squarely at Belle. “I will never forgive Rumpelstiltskin,” he said frankly, “I will never like him. I will always wonder what in the realms you could possibly see in him, and I will always believe that you deserve better. But I have wronged people terribly just as he has, and I am so… grateful to have the chance to live my life free from the baggage I carried for so long and to make better choices this time around, that I cannot begrudge another man that same chance, even my actual nemesis.” He smiled wryly, then his expression shifted and became deadly earnest.

“And I want you to know that I am sorry, Belle, deeply sorry for the harm I caused you. The things I did to you were unforgivable, but please allow me to offer a sincere apology, and a vow to do all I can to make amends. Consider my assistance in this endeavour the first step towards that end.”

Belle nodded, her expression unreadable. She sat in silence for a moment, then reached out and put her hand on his. Killian’s eyebrows rose clear to his hairline.

“I accept your apology,” she said. “I don’t know if I can forgive what you did, but I think in time I can move past it. I believe now that I was wrong when I said your heart was rotten. I gave Rumpel a chance to prove that he could change and I can do the same for you.”

Killian’s eyes were welling again, and this time he didn’t care. He let the tears fall. “Thank you, Belle,” he whispered, gently squeezing her hand. “That is far more than I deserve.”

She smiled, and squeezed back, then returned to her book. Killian wiped his cheeks, sniffled slightly, and returned to his.

Moments later, he’d found the answer. It was simple, almost elegant, terrifying in its efficiency, and it all fit. All the other bits and pieces they’d put together, the ideas they’d had that didn’t seem to make sense, they all tumbled smoothly into place. Killian felt a rush of elation. Eagerly, he apprised Belle of his conclusions, and they set to work on a plan.

 

 _Aboard the_ Jolly Roger

Emma wasn’t surprised to hear that of all the people he’d known in Storybrooke, Killian missed Belle the most. Not that she hadn’t been completely floored by them becoming friends; at the time such a thing had seemed impossible, not only because of Killian’s past crimes against Belle but because the pirate and the bookworm were such a very odd couple. But gradually, the time they spent together working on solving their mystery had revealed some surprising commonalities: their deep intelligence, their love of books and adventure and solving puzzles. They had the same wry sense of humour and even liked the same drink from Granny’s ( _“Tea?” Emma had asked, laughter dancing in her eyes. “Yes, Swan, tea. I didn’t always drink rum, you know. And it is surprisingly delicious over ice”_ ). They worked well together and, she now recalled, had managed not only to discover the witch’s plan but also how to stop it.

 

_Storybrooke_

Emma looked around her, at the faces of the unlikely allies gathered in the loft. Her parents looked horrified, Neal almost resigned. Belle’s expression was scared but determined. She stood in the middle of the room looking small and a bit lost. Emma didn’t miss the way Hook stood behind her, his body language protective, his face grim and concerned.

Emma herself was mainly feeling confusion. “So let me get this straight,” she said “The Wicked Witch of the West— because _of course_ she’s real too— has been sending her flying monkeys into Storybrooke to set traps that drain its magic away?”

“Aye,” said Hook, and Belle nodded in agreement.

“She’s planning to drain it all and then use it to transport herself to Storybrooke?”

Hook and Belle nodded again.

“And then when she arrives she’ll have her own magic, stored in some way, but we won’t have any of ours. Then she can take over.”

Another nod.

“And she kidnapped Gold because…”

“We’re not certain. We think it’s because he figured out her plan, and also we suspect it might be because she needs to control the Dark One for some reason. The monkeys took Rumpel’s dagger when they took him, so we have to assume she has him under her control,” explained Belle. She wrung her hands anxiously. "We have no idea what she might be doing to him, what she might be making him do." She looked like she might cry. Hook put his hand on her shoulder and she looked up at him. A moment passed, then she gave him a small smile, and a nod to say she would be okay. 

“So... what exactly is her plan?” asked Mary Margaret.

Hook and Belle exchanged a significant look.

“We’re not entirely certain of that either,” Hook replied, “All we know is that the books Rumpelstiltskin was looking at describe the methods used by ancient ice wizards in Arendelle to open small cracks between realms, large enough to slip through a device that traps magic and pulls it through the crack into the other realm. Once enough magic is gathered, the cracks can all be linked together and the magic used to shatter the barrier between the realms. We think this is how the witch plans to get to Storybrooke. Draining all its magic is most likely merely a useful side effect, from her perspective, all we’re certain of is that she is desperate for access to this realm.”

“But how did her monkeys get access to it? They’ve been here for months.” David pointed out.

“We suspect that the monkeys have realm-jumping powers of their own, which for some reason the witch isn’t able to use for herself,” said Belle.

“And you guys figured this all out from old books?” Emma’s voice was skeptical.

Hook and Belle exchanged another look, and then to Emma’s astonishment they grinned at each other.

“We’re _very_ good at research,” said Belle, and Hook snorted a laugh.

Emma realised that this was a private joke between them and wondered if she was losing her mind. Since when did those two get along so well?

“All right,” she said, “If what you’re saying is true, how do we stop her?”

“There is a way,” said Hook, “But it’s rather drastic and we’re not sure if it’s possible.”

“How can we find out?” 

He met her gaze with a grim smile and a raised eyebrow.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask Regina, love.”

 

 _Aboard the_ Jolly Roger

Killian was glad he’d had Henry to help him prepare the Jolly for their journey; he didn’t think he and his ship could have managed by themselves. He could feel her exhaustion as she drew on the very last dregs of her reserve of magic. It wouldn’t be long now.

He ignored the wrenching pain in his heart at the thought of it, and urged his ship onward.

“Nearly there, lass,” he whispered. “Just a bit more.”

With the last of her strength, the Jolly Roger put on a burst of speed and rounded the edge of the cove where Storybrooke lay.

“Swan! Henry!” called Killian. “We’re nearly there. The town should come into view momentarily. I’ll need your help with the mooring, lad.”

The three of them stood at the helm, eagerly awaiting their first glimpse of the town they’dlast seen disappearing into a spell cloud one year ago.

Five minutes later they wore identical expressions of disbelief and confusion.

“What the heck?” said Emma.

“Bloody hell,” cursed Killian.

 

_Storybrooke_

Regina listened to their tale in haughty silence. She accepted the paper with Hook’s translation of the ice wizards’ magic and his and Belle’s suggestion for how to counter it, and studied them intently.

“I can cast this spell,” she said finally, “But I’m going to need some time to work on it. It’s insanely complicated and it looks like there may be some unusual requirements and side effects that I’m going to need to figure out. And it doesn’t help that Storybrooke’s magic is getting weaker by the minute. How much time do we have before the witch arrives?”

“Based on the number of magic traps she has already set and the frequency with which new ones appear, we figure it’s two, three weeks maximum before she is able to shatter the boundary between her realm and this one,” Hook replied.

“Well then,” said Regina, “I’d better get to work.”

 

 _Aboard the_ Jolly Roger

“I don’t understand,” said Henry. “Where is it?”

“Are you sure this is the right place, Hook?” Emma didn’t want to insult his navigational skills, but there was no mistaking the fact that the town was not there.

“Of course I’m sure,” retorted Killian. “I have sailed here before, Swan. _You’ve_ sailed here before. The bloody town should be right there.”

Emma's mind raced for a solution. Of all the things she had anticipated might happen when they got to Storybrooke, Storybrooke simply _not existing_ was not one of them. It had to exist, how else had she and Henry got their memories back? Why else would the curse have been cast?

She looked at Killian, slightly desperately. “Well, maybe we should sail on a little further, maybe it’s moved—”

Killian shook his head, his expression oddly tight and worried. “No, we haven't time. We need to get off the ship. Now.”

“But—”

“Now, Swan! Henry, grab the bags, get them to the rowboat.” His pirate captain tones brooked no argument. Henry raced off, grabbing his and Emma's bags and running up to the bow of the ship.

“Rowboat?” Emma was confused.

“Aye, love, we can’t take her to the docks because there aren’t any, we’ll have to row ashore instead. Quickly, now! I'll be there momentarily.”

Emma heard the urgency in his voice and decided not to argue. She hurried to the bow where Henry was waiting. He pulled up a tarpaulin to reveal a small boat with two oars stowed neatly inside. He tucked their duffel bags carefully in the storage spaces under the seats, and grabbed the attached rope to hoist the boat over the railing.

"Help me, Mom!" he cried. Henry didn't know what the fuss was about, but if Hook said they needed to get in the rowboat, then he intended to get in it. 

They managed to lower the boat into the water just as Killian reappeared carrying his satchel and what appeared to be his pirate coat, along with a large burlap sack stuffed to the brim. 

“So that’s what he was doing when he disappeared to his quarters,” thought Emma. “He was packing. But why—” 

She had no time to finish the thought as Killian dropped his belongings into the boat then lowered a rope ladder down into it. He deftly lifted Henry and swung him over the railing onto the ladder, which the boy immediately and hurriedly climbed down. Killian turned to do the same to Emma, but she was already climbing over the railing and on to the top rung. Killian shot her a grateful smile, then followed her down. Seconds after his boots landed in the boat, he was seated and rowing them swiftly away. As they pulled clear of the _Jolly Roger_ , Killian reached out his hand to stroke his ship and whisper something that she couldn't hear.

Emma could swear there were tears in his eyes.

“Are you all right?” she asked him.

“Aye, love, I’m fine,” he replied, avoiding her gaze.

Moments later, they pulled the rowboat ashore, removing all their belongings at Killian's insistence.

They stood on the rocky beach, looking into the dense Maine woods.

Storybrooke was most definitely not there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you thank you to everyone who has commented and left kudos, I appreciate it so much, they always brighten my day xxx


	11. The Lost Year, Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding Storybrooke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, but I hope a satisfying one.

_Storybrooke, 12 months previously_

Two weeks after Hook and Belle had presented Regina the ideas they’d found that they thought might help her cast a spell to counter the Wicked Witch’s plans, they were all gathered at the loft, awaiting Regina’s arrival. Mary Margaret and David were on the sofa, Hook and Belle at the table, Emma pacing the room, Neal and Henry on the kitchen stools. None of them knew quite what to expect. Although the erstwhile Evil Queen was never the chummiest of people, ever since they’d given her the spell she’d been downright unfriendly, responding with a curt “I’m working on it,” to any enquiries before disappearing in a cloud of smoke. And for the past three days, Regina had refused to see or speak to anyone, even Henry. Emma was concerned. 

“Do you think she’s managed to do it?” she asked for the hundredth time.

“I’m sure she has, love,” replied Hook, in the patient tone that people use with children and imbeciles. Emma bristled.

“I’m just worried,” she snapped. “It’s not like Regina to refuse time with Henry. What if she can’t cast the spell after all? The witch only needs another trap or two before she’ll be able to smash the barrier and get to Storybrooke. We have days, at most.”

“We all know that, Emma,” said David, “and we’re all concerned. But let’s wait until Regina gets here before we panic.”

Emma nodded. She knew he was right, but she couldn’t shake the feeling churning in her gut that Regina would not be bringing them good news.

Just then the door opened and Regina entered. The look on her face did little to reassure Emma’s gut.

“Well, I see the gang’s all here,” said Regina, a hint of snark just appreciable in her voice.

“Waiting for _you_ ,” said Emma sharply. “Did you work it out?”

“I did.” The snark was gone, replaced by grim resignation. “But I don’t think any of you are going to like it.”

“Tell us,” said David.

“The spell the pirate found is from an ancient branch of magic, one not well known in the Enchanted Forest. I had to do a lot of digging and experimenting before I truly understood it. It will defeat the witch’s plan. But there is a price.” She hesitated, looking around the room.

“Well?” Emma was impatient. “What’s the price?”

Regina took a deep breath, then continued. “In some ways, the spell is not that different from the Dark Curse. It can transport people, entire towns, into other realms. And, like the Dark Curse, it requires a sacrifice. What’s different is that the curse is the act of a single, desperate person, while this spell is designed to be enacted by many.”

“How many?” asked Mary Margaret.

“Five,” Regina replied. “And all five must make a sacrifice.”

“What’s the sacrifice?” asked David.

Regina paused for a moment. “Before I answer that, we need to talk about what the spell will do. We can’t stop the Wicked Witch from coming to Storybrooke. She’s already set the traps and siphoned most of the magic away, and there’s no way we can get it back, no way to stop the traps. All we can do is not be here when she arrives. That’s what this spell is designed for. Apparently, these ancient wizards did a lot of realm jumping.”

“Aye,” said Hook, looking thoughtful. “That spell came from one of the oldest books in the Dark One’s Arendelle collection. The ones written more recently hinted that the Ice Wizards’ magic was suppressed because it became so dangerous. It risked shattering the boundaries between every realm and bringing chaos to each and all. That’s probably why it wasn’t taught in the Enchanted Forest.”

“Yes, that makes sense,” said Regina, forgetting for once to sneer at Hook. “Casting this spell will send Storybrooke back to the Enchanted Forest. It’s the nature of the Ice Wizards’ magic to shatter things, so the town will be shattered as well, and scattered across the realm. I’ve figured out a way to tether people who share a blood connection to each other, allowing families to remain together. If we wait to cast it until the moment the witch arrives, this should allow Neal to be sent back with Rumpelstiltskin, provided she brings him along with her. I assume you can be ready for that?” She looked pointedly at Neal.

“I can be ready,” he replied. “I need to rescue my father and I’m prepared to do whatever I have to do.”

“Good,” said Regina, then looked over at Mary Margaret and David. “Unfortunately, marriage bonds aren’t a strong enough tie for the spell. You two will likely not end up in the same place.”

Emma’s parents shared a long look. “We’ve been separated before,” David said finally, “And we’ve always found each other. We can do it again.”

Regina nodded, but it was clear she hadn’t finished. “And now, for the sacrifice,” she said. “The spell once cast will return everyone to the place of their birth. Which for all of us, is the Enchanted Forest. All of us, except—” her voice broke, and she finally looked at her son.

“Except me,” finished Henry.

There was a moment of shocked silence.

“No!” cried Emma. “That is NOT an option. Regina, you can’t mean to leave him alone—”

“Of course I don’t,” snapped Regina. “He won’t be alone.” Her face was calm, but there was pain in her eyes. “You’ll be with him.”

“Me?”

“Yes. Emma, you didn’t come to Storybrooke in a curse. You drove in, and you can drive out again. You can take Henry and go, back to Boston or to New York. Anywhere you like. You can be together, as perhaps you were always meant to be.”

“But what about the rest of us?” asked Mary Margaret.

Regina shook her head. “None of us can leave, remember, or we lose our identities. And if we did, the spell couldn’t be cast.”

“What do you mean?”

“The spell requires a sacrifice of love in order to work. This will be our sacrifice. Mary Margaret and David, Neal and I, we’ll all be losing a child by sending Emma and Henry away.”

“But,” said Belle, “you said the spell needed five people to cast it. That’s only four.”

“Yes,” said Regina. “We’ll need one more.”

An uncomfortable silence fell in the room as everyone absorbed the meaning of Regina’s words.

Killian sat staring sightlessly at the table as he struggled to accept what he was hearing. He could feel the expectations of everyone in the room focused upon him, weighing on his shoulders. They all knew who the fifth spell caster would have to be. There was no one else.

A murderous fury rose up in him, and he clenched his fist, grinding it into the table. How he _hated_ this, being manipulated, forced by circumstances and by magic to give up the only good thing life had offered him in over two hundred years. And for what? A town he’d barely passed a moment in, full of people who mostly still feared and distrusted him. Where in spite of everything, he’d managed to forge a handful of friendships. A place that had somehow started to feel like home. “This is what comes of _getting involved_ ,” he thought viciously, “of trying to be part of something. You end up caring about people enough to ruin your life for them.”

Part of him wanted to refuse, to resist. _He_ hadn’t come to Storybrooke in a curse any more than Emma had. He had sailed in on his ship, and he could sail out again. He could take Emma and Henry and _go_ , put the town to his rudder and leave it to its fate, as he’d tried to do before. He’d finish the job this time, be the pirate that they all, deep down, still expected him to be. What was there to stop him?

Only Emma. _They_ might not expect better of him, but _she_ did, and he could not let her down.

He dragged his eyes up to Emma’s face, and felt his heart clench at her expression. She looked almost as devastated as he felt. The past few weeks had seen her walls weakened almost to the breaking point, and after their tender moment on the bench at the docks, Killian had allowed himself actually to consider the possibility that she could, perhaps, one day… but he couldn’t even _think_ of that now, the ache in his chest was too fierce.

He stood up, and swept the room with his gaze. No one met his eyes. He felt his lip curl into Hook’s trademark sneer, still familiar on his face although he’d had no need of it for months now. They were all prepared to let him do this thing, _needed_ him to do it, but not one had the courage to openly acknowledge what it would cost him.

“I’ll help cast the bloody spell,” he announced, his voice harsh, his anger increasing as he observed the others’ obvious relief. “But I have one condition.” He turned to Regina. “That as soon as it's done, you send me straight back to my ship, and tether her to me the way you propose to tether the others.”

Regina barely refrained from rolling her eyes. “That’s not how this _works_ , pirate. The tether is designed to keep families together.”

“You said it’s to keep united those who are connected by blood, and I’ve spilled enough of mine on the _Jolly Roger_ ’s decks to make her my family thrice over,” retorted Killian.

“I can’t tether a person to an object —”

He stepped towards her, deliberately invading her space, looming over her, his expression dark and dangerous.

“Try,” he snarled.

Her expression never changed, but she conceded with a small nod.

“I’ll try,” she said.

“David looked up, still not meeting Killian’s gaze, but instead focused on Regina. “Tell us what we need to do,” he said.

 

 _Where Storybrooke should be, present day_

Emma stood on the rocky beach, staring into the dark Maine woods. She blinked her eyes, shook her head, then blinked again, harder. Storybrooke still wasn’t there. She blinked once more. She didn’t know what she was trying to accomplish by it, but felt she had to do _something_. It made no sense that Storybrooke would not be right there, in front of her, returned from the Enchanted Forest by the Dark Curse that had nearly snatched Killian away as well. So where _was_ it? 

She threw up her hands in frustration, “Welp, it’s not here, and I don’t see any point in standing around staring at trees. We need to figure out a plan. Why can’t we take the _Jolly Roger_ and head further down the coast? I still think there’s a chance the town just got sent back to a different location. We don’t actually know anything about how this curse was cast, maybe it was different enough to move the town…” she trailed off as she realised that she was talking to air. “Hook? What are you—” she turned to see Killian staring out at the sea, his jaw tense and his eyes devastated. She followed his gaze to a wisp of grey smoke that was just dissipating on the breeze. The _Jolly Roger_ was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s your ship?” asked Emma, dumbfounded.

“Gone,” he replied, his voice hoarse. He cleared his throat. “The _Jolly Roger_ is gone.” He felt he had to repeat it to drive home the reality.

“How is it gone? Gone where?”

“Back to the Enchanted Forest.” Killian took a moment to allow himself to feel the wrenching grief of his loss. Then he tucked his pain away and turned to Emma.

“The _Jolly Roge_ r, as you know, Swan, is made from enchanted wood. Her original enchantment merely made her fast, manoeuvrable, impervious to certain forms of attack and greatly resistant to damage. However, as the years passed, and particularly those years in Neverland absorbing its uniquely tricksy magic, she began to develop… other abilities. Namely that of crossing realms.”

“Your ship can cross realms? But…”

“Please, love, let me explain without interruption. Come, let’s sit down.” He indicated a large rock with a flat, dry surface. “You too, Henry,” he called to the boy, who was still looking into the woods.

Henry shook his head. “No, I’d rather… I think I… Is it okay if I take a closer look at the forest?” he asked. “There’s something… I can’t quite figure out what, but something is there that I can’t quite see. Please, Mom, can I just go look?”

“Okay, but stay in sight of the beach,” said Emma.

Henry nodded, and headed off. Emma and Killian made themselves as comfortable as possible on the rock, and Killian continued his tale.

“The _Jolly Roger_ can cross realms, yes, but she can only remain in the new realm for as long as the magic she stored before the jump holds out. Once her store of magic is depleted, she is dragged back to the original realm. I used to take advantage of this to escape Neverland from time to time without needing Pan’s permission.” He shot her a cocky smirk and a raised eyebrow. “Did you never wonder how I acquired such a reputation in the Enchanted Forest when I was relegated to Neverland for two hundred years?”

Emma nodded. She had actually wondered that.

“Filled to the brim with magic, the Jolly can remain in a new realm for as long as six months,” continued Killian. “Long enough for me and my crew to boost our spirits and our coffers with a bit of pillage and plunder and to keep my reputation alive, before we were pulled back to Neverland. It’s a handy trick, but not a long-term solution, and so as I told you before, to make my permanent escape from that accursed island I was forced to make a deal with Pan. That’s why I could never fully leave Neverland until I satisfied his requirements, and why I needed the magic bean I stole from you to escape this realm.” He watched carefully for her reaction to the reminder of his past villainy, but her face remained neutral, so he continued. “When I received the message about the new curse, I briefly considered attempting to bargain with Blackbeard for the bean I’m certain he has in his possession, but it would have taken too long, with no guarantee of success. The Jolly didn’t have a lot of magic left; after months in Storybrooke’s relatively mild magical climate, a year in the Enchanted Forest had barely been enough to get her back up to her normal levels. Then she had to fight off the curse, depleting her reserves still further, but I knew she had enough remaining to get us here and get us to Storybrooke. Or, at least where Storybrooke should be,” he gestured around them. “But the journey took everything she had left, and she couldn’t stay any longer. I’m so sorry, Emma. I’ve failed and now we’re stranded here. Perhaps it would’ve been better to take your yellow contraption, but it simply never occurred to me that Storybrooke would be elsewhere than where we expected to find it.”

He looked at her again, but her expression hadn’t changed. She seemed to be processing everything he’d said, so he remained silent and allowed her to think. Finally, she spoke.

“We can— we can get the Jolly back, though, can’t we?” she said, her voice oddly hesitant. “There has to be a way—”

Killian shook his head. “No, love, I’m sorry. She’s gone. Unless we could find a magic bean or some other way to open a portal, and with Storybrooke not here I can’t imagine that is even a remote possibility.”

Emma nodded, still trying to take it all in, understand the implications of what he was saying. “So you knew, before you left the Enchanted Forest, that your ship wouldn’t be able to remain here, and you wouldn’t be able to go back for her. That you’d lose her.”

Killian nodded. “Aye,” he said, swallowing hard to keep the pain down.

“But you did it anyway?”

The faint note of disbelief in her voice pierced his heart. It was unfathomable that this extraordinary, brilliant, stunning woman should believe herself of less value to him than his vessel. Realising that this was no time for reticence, he laid his heart bare to her.

“I didn’t even think twice about it. I had to get to you, Swan, and it was the only way. The Jolly understood.”

Emma sat for a moment looking down at her hands, then raised her head to meet his gaze. Her eyes were wide, their expression softer than he’d ever seen it, a small, radiant smile on her lips. Killian’s breath caught at the emotion on her face.

“You gave up your ship for me?” she asked softly.

Killian turned slightly, tilting his body towards hers, his eyes meeting hers straight on. She was an open book to him as always, and he knew instinctively how important this was to her, that he mustn’t brush it off or dismiss it with flippant modesty. Instead, the look he gave her was open, sincere, as he tried to tell her with his eyes that it was _nothing_ really, that as much as he loved his ship, he loved her far more, and he would have sacrificed far more to find her again.

“Aye,” he said simply.

 *       *       *

Emma’s heart was thundering, so full of emotion that she could barely breathe. She stared into Killian’s blue eyes, allowing herself to see, _truly_ see the expression in them and what it meant. It was the same expression she’d seen there time and again, but had refused to think about, refused to accept that he could feel that way, for her. Now, finally, she could.

Killian Jones loved her. His love was unconditional and all-encompassing. He would cross realms for her, sacrifice all he had to save her, and he wouldn’t blink at either, wouldn’t hesitate for a moment to do whatever was necessary to be there for her. Every other person in her life might leave her, but she knew now that he never would.

And, Emma realised in a blinding flash of insight that nearly stole the breath from her lungs, she loved him too. She had for weeks, months even, before the spell was cast. That _something else_ she’d felt so strongly but resolutely pushed from her mind, that was love. It was so _obvious_ now, the way she trusted him with her secrets, knew somehow that she could always rely on him, sought him out before anyone else when she needed to talk, the way she felt that a day was wasted if she didn’t spend it with him. She loved his humour, his intelligence, his courage, the way he could hold her spellbound with tales of the adventures of his long life. She had felt it for ages, known it in her heart, but lacked the courage to accept it, to risk opening herself to another person with the power to break her.

Even after the spell had stolen him from her, left her in New York with no memory of him, that love had still been there. For a whole year, every hint she’d seen of anything pirate-related, every glimpse of the sea, every mention of the word ‘hook’, had shot a strange, uncomfortable twinge through her belly, almost like yearning.

_“I don’t yearn,” she’d told Regina flatly, ignoring the voice in her head that called out the lie._

_“Maybe.” Regina was clearly unconvinced. “But_ he _does.”_

A memory flashed through her mind, of a date she’d had about eight months before. A man named Walsh, nice enough, she’d hardly been swept off her feet but she thought he had potential. The date had gone well, and they were waiting for dessert. Walsh was telling her about a new TV show he’d just started watching. “I’m absolutely _hooked_ on it,” he’d said, and Emma had recoiled violently at the turn of phrase, suddenly unable to look at him, suddenly filled with emotions that didn’t seem to be fully hers. Anger, jealousy, resentment, and yet also resignation and a strange sense that while she deserved to be happy, _this man_ was not the one who could make her so. Had that been Killian, looking out for her from another realm, ensuring she didn’t make a terrible mistake? She somehow knew it had been. The vicious, hateful expression that had briefly crossed Walsh’s face when she had abruptly ended their date and told him she didn’t want to see him again certainly confirmed that any relationship she might have had with him would not have ended well.

Emma reached up and cupped Killian’s face in her hand, stroking his cheekbone with her thumb. She leaned in, holding his gaze, watching as a spark of desire ignited in his eyes and hope spread across his handsome features. He leaned towards her as well, stopping only when their faces were barely an inch apart, hesitating, breath bated while he waited to see if she meant what her eyes were promising. With a small smile, Emma closed the distance between them and kissed him. 

The kiss could not have been more different from their first one. It was soft, gentle, suffused with emotion, their lips clinging together for a drawn-out moment before they tilted their heads to change the angle and deepen it. Emma’s hand slid to the back of his head, feeling the softness of his hair slipping through her fingers, feeling also his fingers tangling in her own hair, relishing its texture. They broke apart, briefly, smiling dazedly at each other, foreheads touching. Then Killian ran his thumb across the dimple in her chin then leaned in to capture her mouth again, and Emma was gone. All conscious thought flew from her head leaving her aware only of her pounding heart, Killian’s mouth on hers, and the powerful love that flowed between them.

Absorbed as they were in each other and the intensity of their feelings, they wholly failed to notice the the sudden whoosh of air and light that burst from where their lips met, rippling out through the forest and over the sea, bringing in its wake the noise and bustle of a small coastal town. Nor did they hear the boats that were suddenly in the harbour that had appeared from nowhere, or notice that the rock they were sitting on had turned into a bench; they didn’t even hear Henry whooping and shouting until he was right in front of them, yelling at the top of his voice.

“Mom! Hook! MOM! _MOM_!” he cried, practically dancing with joy, “You guys did it! You did it! You broke the curse!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this story should be wrapped up in another chapter, possibly two. Thanks for sticking with it!


	12. The Lost Year: Resolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the exposition dump at the beginning of this chapter. Turns out there were more details to work out than I'd thought, and I was eager to get to the end, which I hope you'll love as much as I do!

Emma stood at the docks for a silent moment looking out over the water, feeling like she was finally able to breathe after the chaotic events of the past twelve hours or so, beginning with the earth-shattering discovery that Captain Hook was her true love.

Although, that wasn’t strictly true, Emma thought. Killian Jones was her true love. He hadn’t really been Hook for some time now, despite how she had continued to call him that— for her own protection, she now understood.

It had been surprisingly easy to adjust to the notion. Realising that she loved Killian had made everything fall into place, as all the things she had been resisting and struggling against she could now not just accept but embrace. It was a relief, actually. For so long she’d been fighting every urge to look at him, touch him, smile at him, urges that were almost constant when they were together and that were utterly exhausting to combat. The idea that she didn’t have to anymore, that she could look, touch, smile, _kiss_ him all she liked made her almost giddy with freedom.

Not that they’d had much opportunity for any of those things. After Henry had interrupted their kiss and they’d realised they were sitting in the middle of Storybrooke’s harbour making out like teenagers where anyone could see them, they had managed to exchange precisely one very intense _look_ before being swept back into the everyday insanity of Storybrooke life.

Naturally, it was Leroy who had first raised the alarm, and the news that the curse had broken spread through the town like a brush fire. The three of them had headed on foot for the loft only to be met halfway there by David in his truck, who had pulled first Emma and Henry and then Killian into a warm bear hug, then given them a lift into town. Mary Margaret had met them on the stair landing, heavily pregnant and insisting that they call her Snow from then on.

“A _lot_ has happened in the last year, Emma,” she’d laughed.

“I can see that,” Emma replied, gaping at her mother’s belly as Henry shouted for joy and Killian clapped David on the back.

They were soon joined by Regina and a man she’d introduced as Robin Hood (“ _Awesome_ ,” breathed Henry), then by Belle and Neal. Snow made coffee and cocoa and they all gathered together to catch up on the events of the past year.

“We managed to cast the spell with perfect timing,” said Regina. “The Wicked Witch and Rumpelstiltskin were caught up in it and taken back to the Enchanted Forest along with us. Neal and Rumpel were tethered together as I’d hoped they would be, but the real surprise was that the witch and I were tethered to each other as well.”

“What?” cried Emma.

“Oh, yes. Apparently the Wicked Witch of the West is my sister.”

“Your… _sister?_ ”

“Well, half-sister. My mother’s firstborn child, sent to Oz as a baby so she wouldn’t disrupt Cora’s glorious plans for her own future.”

Emma was momentarily speechless. “… Wow,” she said finally. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Regina, but your mother was a real piece of work.”

“Yes, I think that’s fair,” conceded Regina.

They explained that after an intense struggle and with the help of Robin and his Merry Men (“I can’t believe you really call them that,” Emma cringed. “Why wouldn’t I?” asked Robin), Regina had managed to defeat the witch Zelena by stealing the amulet that contained her magic. Regina had then used the amulet to adapt the Dark Curse and reconstruct Storybrooke with its magic reinstalled.

“The spell really did shatter Storybrooke,” she explained. “Pieces of the town were scattered all across the Enchanted Forest. I gave the curse instructions to locate and transport only those people and things that had been brought to the Enchanted Forest by the spell and the ability to discern what those people and things were.”

“Well that explains why it tried so hard to catch _me_ ,” said Killian. “It was like something on a mission. Leave it to you to design a sentient curse, your majesty. Because they’re not bloody dangerous enough as they are.”

Regina was unrepentant. “I don’t know what you’re complaining about, Guyliner,” she snarked. “You got away from it, didn’t you?”

“Yes, remind me to tell you about that sometime,” retorted Killian in an ironic tone.

“But hold on, if you cast the Dark Curse, no matter what version of it, didn’t someone need to sacrifice the heart of the thing they love most?” asked Emma.

Her parents, Regina, Neal and Belle all exchanged uncomfortable looks.

“Someone did,” Belle finally answered. “It was me.”

“What?!?” cried Emma, Killian, and Henry at once.

“I cast the curse,” said Belle, “with Rumpel’s heart.”

Silence. Then Killian spoke, in a strangely choked voice.

“Rumpelstiltskin is… dead?”

Belle nodded, her eyes flooding with tears. “He begged me to do it, said he couldn’t bear to see Neal separated from his son, that it was worth anything to reunite them,” she answered. Tears were running down her face now. “He was tired of being the Dark One, of being at the mercy of anyone who got hold of his dagger. Zelena made him do some awful things. But he wasn’t strong enough to give up the darkness on his own, so he told Regina to take out his heart and then I crushed it.” She sobbed at the memory. Emma moved to comfort her, but Killian got there first. He wrapped Belle in his arms and tucked her head under his chin. After a moment, Belle gratefully retuned the embrace, turning her head to weep into Killian’s shoulder.

“But then at the last minute, Zelena managed to escape,” Snow took up the story, seeing that Belle was in no condition to continue, “and she somehow added a cloaking spell in the curse that hid Storybrooke from anyone who wasn’t carried over by it. She taunted us as the curse began to take effect. She said that even if her plan had failed, she could still stop you from finding us again, keep us miserable by keeping us apart. But I guess you managed to get around that somehow…?” Snow’s voice rose inquiringly.

Emma and Killian looked at each other, unsure of what to say. How do you tell your princess mother that a pirate captain and former villain is your true love, wondered Emma,with the same underlying sense of _what the actual fuck_ that she always felt whenever she thought too closely about what her life was like now.

Henry evidently did not share her concerns. “Mom and Killian broke the curse,” he announced proudly, and Emma wondered when Hook had become _Killian_ to her son. “With a True Love’s Kiss,” he elaborated. 

There was a moment of silence, then to Emma’s astonishment her parents and Regina exchanged I-told-you-so looks, and even Belle smiled through her tears.

“We hoped that might happen,” said Snow. “That’s why Neal sent the message and the potion to Killian.”

“Neal sent the message?”

Emma turned to her ex, who was looking slightly uncomfortable. “Yeah,” he said, “I did.” He ran a hand through his hair, then shoved both in his pockets. “Look, I owe you an apology, Ems. I’m sorry I was such a jerk, blaming you for not wanting to get back together. I was so obsessed with the idea of us being a real family that I didn’t stop to think about whether you might want that too.” He looked up finally and met her eyes, and she could see that he was sincere. “I told your parents the truth, about what I did, how I left you.”

David’s shoulders tensed and Snow put a calming hand on his arm.

“It was hard for us to hear,” she said, “and I realise that part of the reason you didn’t tell us yourself was because I was pushing you so hard at Neal. I’m sorry too, Emma. I just wished so hard for you to be happy and I thought Neal was what you wanted. Once we had cleared the air and actually thought about the things you’d said and how you’d been acting, we realised that the man you really wanted was Killian.”

“You… realised that?” Emma wasn’t sure what to do with this information.

“It was pretty obvious,” said David, scowling at Killian, who had a stupidly delighted grin on his face.

“I knew how Killian felt too,” said Neal, “though I didn’t want to believe it.” He turned to face Killian. “I know now that you meant it when you asked me to stay on the _Jolly Roger_ , all those years ago. I was too angry to listen then, but I had a lot of time to think during the last year. I realised that the way you looked at Emma was… well, not the _same_ as the way you looked at me then, obviously, but it was with the same honesty. Then when you agreed to help cast the spell and let her go, I knew you were really in love with her.” He offered Killian a small, tentative smile. “I’m sorry. For how I acted then, the things I said to you.”

Killian nodded, swallowing hard, then he strode across the room and pulled Neal into a hug. “No apology needed, lad,” he said hoarsely. “You were rightfully angry. I should have told you about your mother from the first.”

Neal allowed the embrace for a moment, then patted Killian awkwardly on the shoulder and pulled slowly away. Killian let him go, with some reluctance, Emma thought.

“Yeah, um, well, since you mention it,” said Neal, blushing a little. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind maybe telling me about her sometime? I was so young when she left I don’t remember her that well. If it wouldn’t be too hard for you.”

“Not at all, said Killian. “When I let go of my revenge on the Crocodile, I also let go of the pain over her death that I’d been holding on to for so long. I can remember Milah now without suffering. And it would be my honour to help you remember her better, Bae. Er, or rather Neal.”

“It’s okay,” said Neal. “I don’t mind Bae so much anymore.”

 

They had talked long into the night, finally conceding their need to sleep at around 2 am, with Regina, Robin, Belle, and Neal heading home, while Killian gratefully accepted Snow and David’s offer of the sofa bed. Henry had long since dozed off on David’s shoulder, so his grandfather carried him up to his bedroom. Emma moved to follow, but she paused at the foot of the stairs to look back at Killian. He was digging through the pockets of his pirate coat and placing several items before him on the table. He didn’t notice her watching him. Emma smiled to herself. He’d just given her an idea.

Now, standing at the docks, she removed something from her own pocket and examined it for a moment before lifting it to her lips. It was the small pink conch shell that Ariel had gifted Killian. As Regina had instructed, Emma blew three short bursts into the shell. The sound it produced was surprisingly resonant from such a small conch, marvelled Emma, looking at it more carefully. It really was beautiful, she thought, smiling, before slipping it into her pocket again. Then she waited. 

Several minutes passed uneventfully, and Emma began to fidget. She wondered how long this would take, and if she should have a seat or just keep waiting—

There was splash just to her right and a musical chuckle, then a bright voice exclaimed “Well, I didn’t expect to have to come this far for you— oh. Hello.”

Emma looked down to see a pretty woman with big blue eyes and water cascading from her red hair. The eyes were full of surprise and curiosity, and a cheerful, friendly interest. Emma liked her immediately.

“Er, hi, you must be Ariel. I’m Emma Swan.”

Ariel looked nonplussed. “Snow’s daughter,” she said. “It’s lovely to meet you, of course, but I’m a bit surprised. I thought I gave that shell to Hook.”

“Yeah, you did. I kind of stole it. I was hoping you might do him a favour.”

“Anything,” said Ariel, “that’s what the shell is for.”

“Great,” said Emma, sitting down cross-legged on the dock and motioning Ariel to come closer. “Here’s what I need…”

 

That evening, Emma and Killian took a walk down to the docks as the setting sun shot brilliant shades of coral and purple across the sky. They strolled along unhurriedly, his left arm looped around her shoulders as she held his hook with her left hand, her right arm around his waist. Emma rested her head on his shoulder as they walked, thinking that she had never in her life felt more content. As they neared the end of the dock, she stopped walking and pulled him around to face her, his back to the water.

“I have a confession,” she told him.

He raised an eyebrow. “Do you, love?”

“Yeah. I stole something from you.”

“I assume you mean other than my heart?” he quipped, and she rolled her eyes but inside warmth suffused her and her own heart sang.

“No, not your heart,” she said. “It was that conch shell that Ariel gave you. I lifted it from your coat pocket this morning when you were asleep.”

He looked surprised, then laughed in delight. “I always knew there was a little pirate in you, Swan,” he said proudly, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head.

Emma felt ridiculously pleased by that remark, and her answering grin was just a bit smug.

“But seriously, love, if you wanted the shell, you only needed to ask. I’d have happily given it to you.”

“I know, but I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“What to be a surprise?”

“That.” She turned him around to face the water. There, floating just off the docks, illuminated by the setting sun, was the _Jolly Roger_.

Killian stared. His throat worked, but no sound emerged.

“I remembered Regina saying that mermaids could open portals underwater, and bring things through,” Emma explained. “I thought Ariel might be able to get your ship here.”

Killian said nothing.

“She was happy to do it,” Emma continued, wishing he would react. “She said that the Jolly had helped to save her husband’s life, and she deserved to be with her rightful owner. Apparently, Blackbeard had tried to steal her, or something. I didn’t quite catch the whole story.”

Killian did not reply.

“But I invited Ariel to come visit any time she wanted, she said she’d like to see you again.”

Still, Killian was silent.

“So probably she can tell you the story, when she comes over.”

No response.

“Look, I’m sorry if I overstepped, but could you please say _something_?” she begged, starting to worry about his lack of reaction.

With a tremendous effort, Killian found his voice. “No, love, you didn’t overstep. I’m just a bit overwhelmed. No one has ever… I never expected… I just…” he was visibly struggling to express himself, which in any other situation would have amused Emma immensely. She had never seen her smooth talking pirate at a loss for words before. Finally, he gave up trying to speak and pulled her roughly into his arms, holding her tightly and burying his face in her hair. “Thank you, Emma,” he whispered.

She held him back just as tightly and stroked the back of his head. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you losing your home because of me,” she said softly.

He pulled away just enough to look into her eyes. “The _Jolly Roger_ is not my home, love,” he said. “She _was_ my home, for many years, but no longer. Without you on board, she’s just a place to sleep. If the past year has taught me anything, it’s this: My home is wherever _you_ are, my generous, my beautiful, my most _precious_ Emma,” he spoke fiercely, clearly having recovered his customary flair for the spoken word. “Light of my life, saviour of my soul, you are _everything_ to me. I love you so much, my darling. More than I could ever have imagined possible.”

Mere months before, such an effusive speech would have terrified Emma to her very core, sent her fleeing from it as fast and as far as she could go. But the depth of his feelings no longer frightened her, as hers ran just as deep.

“And I love you Killian,” she whispered. “So very much. More than I could ever have imagined possible.”

He plunged his hand into her hair and curved it around the back of her head, bringing her mouth to his, capturing it in a deep, soft kiss as his hook arm slid down to wrap around her hips, pulling them tightly against his own. Emma wrapped one arm around his neck and the other around his waist, returning his kiss fervently. He nudged her mouth open and she complied readily, meeting his tongue with hers, letting him take control and sweep her away with his passion. He plundered her mouth, setting every cell in her body alight with sensation and wringing helpless moans from the back of her throat as she clung to him, fearing her knees would give out of she tried to stand on her own. _Gods_ , he was good at this, she thought dazedly. Every kiss they shared was better than the one before. At this rate, she was going to die of pleasure before she ever even got him into bed.

Killian seemed to be thinking along the same lines, as he broke the kiss abruptly and gave her a hot look that sent flames shooting from her dripping core clear to her fingertips. “What do you say we make our way over to my ship, love,” he growled, “and I’ll show you the Captain’s quarters.”

“Pretty sure I’ve already seen the Captain’s quarters,” she managed to reply, her voice breathless.

“My darling Swan,” he purred in her ear, his voice itself an intimate caress, “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may possibly be a little smutty epilogue to finish us all off.


	13. The Fall of Windhaven, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first part of what will probably be a three part story, set in the 6 weeks between 4A and 4B. This is more or less the canon universe, NOT the S3 AU universe from my last few chapters. There will be flashbacks, with non-canon/imagined events. 
> 
> (PS to anyone wondering, I'm still planning an epilogue to the S3 AU, just got distracted by other things--it will come!)

Rain drummed against the windows of the loft, propelled by wind that also lashed the branches of the trees outside. The dark grey sky made the early afternoon light dim, emphasising the cosiness of the soft lamplight in the room where the extended Charming family were gathered, enjoying a relaxing Sunday together.

At the table, David was cleaning and sharpening his sword, inspecting it for damage and carefully polishing the hilt. Snow and Henry sat with their heads together over a large art book of royal portraits, as she regaled him with the pictures and tales of their ancestors in the Enchanted Forest.

Emma and Killian were snuggled on the sofa, her head resting against his shoulder and his arm around her, their fingers entwined, his thumb absently caressing her knuckles. She had her feet up, half listening to Snow’s stories, half dreaming. Killian sat with his ankle crossed over his knee, a book resting in his lap. Emma smiled to herself. Of all the surprising things she had learned about Killian over the past few months, the one that still tickled her was his love of huge, heavy books —tomes, he called them— with long sentences and small print. It was such an adorably old-fashioned thing. She’d tried to get him interested in movies, but while he was happy to sit and watch one with her, he found the storytelling unsatisfying and disliked the loud action sequences, and given the choice she knew he would always prefer a book.

Killian turned a page with his hook, and she marvelled at how well he was able to manage such a delicate task with it. The book was from the library, and Belle would not be pleased to have it returned covered in puncture marks and scratches. But this didn’t seem to be an issue, as Killian orchestrated the page turn smoothly, inflicting no damage. She probably shouldn’t be surprised, Emma reflected, as she knew from personal experience just how deft he could be with that hook. The thought made her smile widen, and she snuggled closer to him, turning her attention back to Snow and Henry.

“This was my great great grandfather, King Theobold,” Snow was saying. “He was known for his remarkable sense of smell.”

“No kidding,” said Henry, looking a bit appalled. “He had the nose for it.”

Snow laughed. “He wasn’t a handsome man, but he was kind and wise. He negotiated peace between five warring kingdoms and ruled Misthaven for seventy years.And this is his wife, my great great grandmother, Queen Evangeline. She was from the kingdom of Windhaven”

Killian made an odd choking noise. Emma glanced up at him, startled. He gave her a small, sheepish smile and returned his attention to his book.

“Windhaven?” inquired David. “Where was that? I’ve never heard of it”

“Queen Evangeline was one of the last of its royal line. Soon after she left, the kingdom’s power was broken and its economy fell to ruin. Eventually, it was absorbed into the other kingdoms of the Enchanted Forest. But at its height it was the greatest naval power in Enchanted Forest history.”

“What destroyed it?” asked Henry.

“No one’s quite sure. The history books say that it suffered targeted and systemic attacks from its enemies, but was vague about who those enemies were. The Enchanted Forest at the time was almost constantly at war, among the kingdoms and against the ogres that threatened its borders. The last great king of Windhaven, Evangeline’s brother and my great great great uncle, he was responsible for a lot of that warfare. He kept attacking the other kingdoms and trying to steal their territory. He used his great navy to blockade them and prevent them from getting supplies, making them especially vulnerable to the ogre attacks. I guess I just assumed that the 'enemies' the books spoke of were the rulers of those other kingdoms.” Snow paused, reflecting. “There are other stories, though.”

“What other stories?” said Henry, David, and Emma together. Killian was silent, and Emma glanced up at him again. His ears were red, and he was glaring at the book with an expression that made Emma think that Belle might have cause to worry about its safety after all.

“Legends, really,” said Snow. “They tell of a man who was once one of Windhaven’s finest naval officers, who turned against the kingdom and in his wrath destroyed it all.”

“What made him turn against it?” asked Henry.

“The legends don’t really say. Just that he had a disagreement with the king and swore vengeance against him.”

Emma looked up at Killian, intending to make some teasing remark about him not being the only sailor out for vengeance, but the look on his face froze the words in her throat. Then the penny dropped.

“When did all this happen, Mom?” she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

“Oh, three hundred years ago, give or take,” replied Snow, looking over at Emma, her eyebrows shooting up at the expression on her daughter’s face. She glanced at Killian, and Emma could practically see the gears turning in her head.

“You were in a Royal Navy, weren’t you Killian?” said Snow.

“Aye,” he replied shortly, “That I was.”

“Hmmm. How long ago would that have been?”

Killian shut his eyes briefly, then opened them and met Snow’s gaze. “Three hundred years,” he replied, his tone expressionless. “Give or take.”

There was a moment of silence as Snow, David, and Henry all stared at Killian with identical shocked expressions, Emma with a concerned one. Killian gave a small sigh and closed his book, setting it aside. He removed his arm from around Emma and slid back on the sofa, away from her, squaring his shoulders to face her family.

Snow recovered first. “It— it was you?” she stammered. “You were the man from the legend?”

“Aye, it was me.”

“You destroyed an entire kingdom?”

“No, I destroyed an entire navy. The kingdom fell later.”

“Because it no longer had a navy!”

“Well, yes, largely because of that.”

Snow shook her head, trying to adjust to this new information. “You know, growing up I was told stories of the man who destroyed Windhaven, and also stories of Captain Hook. But never any suggestion that they might be the same person.”

“Well, it was rather a long time ago, and details tend to get lost in the retelling. When Windhaven collapsed, most of its records were lost or destroyed. At the time there were plenty of people who knew that Killian Jones had taken down Windhaven’s navy, and also that he then became Captain Hook. But the years passed, then the centuries, and gradually all the witnesses and those who’d witnessed them died out, and the story drifted into legend.” Killian’s mouth quirked in a wry smile. “And also, I did put rather a lot of effort into erasing my identity as Captain Jones and replacing it with Hook.”

They all continued to stare at him, and his eyes flashed in sudden anger, just as suddenly controlled and quenched. Emma felt a rush of pride, realising that he was not going to lash out as he would once have done, and instead was prepared to face a reckoning for his actions. He drew a deep breath and went on.

“As you all know, I’ve done many things in my life that I have come to regret, and for which I have worked to make amends. Most of them were carried out in anger or in vengeance. Taking my ship, becoming a pirate, I chose that path out of my fury and despair at Liam’s death. But I could have followed it without destroying the navy. The decision to annihilate them —and I do mean _annihilate_ — that was planned and it was deliberate, and for many years I considered it my proudest achievement. Even after all this time and looking at it through the eyes of the man I wish to become, I cannot regret it.”

“Why not?” asked Emma. “What made you do it?”

“You heard what your mother said, about the king? How he used his navy to blockade his neighbours’ ports, cutting them off from supplies, starving them, making them easy prey for the ogre armies? How he waged constant warfare, to gain more land and wealth for himself?”

They all nodded.

“All true, but it seems that history has glossed over the worst details. He was a monster, cruel and ruthless to his own subjects, insane with his power, and intent on the complete subjugation of the other realms under his sole dominion. He had an evil, a vile plan to accomplish this, and he attempted to use me to carry it out.”

“How?” asked David.

“You are aware that my brother Liam was killed in Neverland, poisoned by dreamshade?”

“Yes, I recall,” said David drily.

“Well what I did not relate was why we were there in the first place. We had been sent by the king, to collect samples of dreamshade and bring it back with us. He claimed it was medicine, one that could cure any injury or disease, that it would keep our sailors fit and healthy so they could continue to bravely repel our enemies’ attacks.” Killian’s voice was bitter. “He relied on us to carry out our orders without question, and Liam intended to do just that. He trusted our king not to send us on a dishonourable mission. I was less certain.” His mouth twisted with disgust, and he continued “Even then, although I tried to keep it suppressed, I had a deep resentment of authority and dislike of being manipulated. I goaded Liam by suggesting that the plant might not be what the king claimed. To prove me wrong, he scratched his arm with one of the thorns. He fell unconscious almost instantly.”

Killian paused, lost in his memories.

“What happened next?” asked Henry.

“Pan appeared, and gave me the water to cure Liam. Of course, we didn’t know that the cure would only be effective within Neverland’s borders. We returned to Windhaven, intent on exposing the king’s plan. Liam did not survive to make his report to the Admiralty.”

“What was the king’s plan?” asked Emma.

“We realised that he was intending to use dreamshade as a weapon against his enemies, and that with it he would be unstoppable. As we all have cause to know, it takes only a nick from a dreamshade-laced weapon to kill a man.”

Snow and David exchanged a significant look.

“With that poison at his disposal, the king would have subdued the other realms with ease, and his rule over them would have been horrific. What else could I have done? My brother was dead and my king was revealed to be a madman and a coward. I had nothing left but my ship and my crew, and my tattered sense of honour. I vowed to stop the king’s plans in the only way I knew how— by destroying his naval power. Without its navy, Windhaven was nothing.”

He paused, taking the time to meet the eyes of each listener before continuing.

“And so I did. My crew followed me without hesitation, and as word of the dreamshade plot spread, many other sailors began to defect from the navy, and many residents of Windhaven sought refuge in the other kingdoms. All told, it took me about five years to accomplish my goal, and once its navy was destroyed and much of its population fled, Windhaven rapidly collapsed. Its lands were divided amongst the other kingdoms, and the king in his madness threw himself from the tower of his castle and into the sea. No one tried to rescue him.”

He looked down for a moment, thumb toying with the tip of his hook, then met Emma’s gaze and continued.

“Those who died on the ships I took, and those who suffered when the kingdom fell, I am sorry for them, truly sorry, but the alternative would have been far worse, for far more people. Sometimes a problem simply has no good solution. I regret the pain and suffering my actions caused, but I do not regret taking those actions. To do nothing, to allow the king to proceed unhindered, would have been the most despicable cowardice.”

Emma tried to imagine Killian as he had been then, painfully young and idealistic in his way, lost and angry and alone, compelled to drastic, violent action by what he felt was right. She found it wasn’t that difficult. She glanced at her parents, wondering how they would react to Killian’s tale. There wasn’t always a lot of nuance in how they saw the world, but she hoped they wouldn’t just write this off as another example of Killian’s villainy.

She certainly didn’t see it that way, not at all. He’d been faced with an impossible choice, with both options leading to imperfect outcomes. He’d done the only thing he could do in such circumstances. As she had done when she’d chosen to give up Henry. It had torn her apart to do so, but the alternative, in her mind, would have been worse. She’d had to choose the least worst option, just like Killian.

It was times like these when Emma wished she were better with words. Three of them in particular, words she knew Killian was longing to hear, that he _deserved_ to hear, words she felt with all her heart and wished more than anything to be able to say to him. But each time she tried they stuck in her throat, refusing to let her take the last step towards making herself completely vulnerable to him. They stuck there again now, and so Emma fell back on action.

She reached out and took Killian’s hand, lacing their fingers together and lifting it to her cheek. Holding his gaze, she pressed a kiss on his wrist, trying to convey her love and forgiveness with her eyes.

She could see the moment he understood, and the intensity in his expression seared her. He tightened his hand on hers in a crushing grip and his eyes flashed with a love so fierce and encompassing that Emma felt it resonate in her very soul.

“Emma,” he breathed, reverently.

She smiled. “Killian,” she said, and suddenly the words she needed —if not the ones she _wanted_ — to tell him sprang to her lips. “You did the right thing,” she told him, “It was the only thing you could have done. It’s what _I_ would have done, in your shoes.”

Killian’s body tensed, every muscle tight as a coiled spring, and she could tell it was taking all he had not to snatch her into his arms and kiss her senseless. She stroked her cheek on his hand again, promising herself to give him the opportunity to do just that the next time they were alone.

David cleared his throat, and with effort, Emma and Killian broke their intense stare to look over at him. His eyes were on Snow, who nodded.

David turned his gaze to his daughter and at the complex, infuriating man she had fallen in love with. He had come to respect, and even like Hook —sorry, _Killian_ — over the past few months, and it did come as a shock to hear this latest tale of his past misdeeds. Of all the things David had ever imagined Killian might be guilty of, bringing down an entire kingdom was _not_ one of them. But then, David reflected, his own past was not unblemished, he had made mistakes, yet he had never doubted that he was a good man. Perhaps Killian had fallen farther from the light than most, but he _had_ faced some pretty testing times, and he’d had no one in his life to guide or support him as David had had his mother and Snow. The fact that Killian had been able to claw his way back to goodness after everything he’d been through counted for a lot in David’s mind.

“This is… a lot to process, if I’m honest,” he said. “But… well, Snow and I did lead a rebellion to dethrone the Evil Queen, so it’s not like we’re strangers to violent regime change.” He smiled. “It sounds like you did the best you could with the options you had, and that’s all anyone can be asked to do.”

Snow smiled in agreement. “Who knows, maybe if you hadn’t done what you did, none of us would be here now. The past is the past, but in the present we know what kind of man you are, Killian.”

Killian stared at them, tears in his eyes, his expression that of a man who thought he’d been handed a crate of lit dynamite only to discover it contained diamonds. “I—” he croaked, then cleared his throat and continued, “I don’t really know what to say. I wasn't expecting— that is I thought you'd— ahem. I— I think I need to take a moment…”

They were all staring at him, at the normally smooth and articulate pirate rendered speechless by simple forgiveness. “Oh, um, of course, you can go up to Emma’s room. Take all the time you need,” said Snow kindly.

Killian nodded, gave them a shaky smile, and retreated.

Henry watched as he disappeared up the stairs, then shook his head.

“I can’t believe my mom’s boyfriend is an _actual legend_.”

They all laughed, and suddenly the tension was gone from the room.

“Well, I think that’s enough history for today,” said Snow. “What do you say we make some hot chocolate?”

 

* * *

 

Emma went upstairs to where Killian was sitting in an armchair by the window, looking out into the night.

“You’ve been up here for hours,” she said, brushing her fingers through the hair that fell on his forehead. “You missed all the hot chocolate. Are you all right?”

He gave her a tight smile. “I’m fine, love. A bit overwhelmed. I’m not sure I deserve such generosity from your parents. Or from you.”

“Of course you deserve it,” she chided. Seeing that his expression was still troubled, she perched on the arm of the chair and put her arm around his shoulders, resting her cheek on his head. “Can I tell you something?”

“You can tell me anything, love.”

“I’m actually kinda impressed. I mean, you basically took down an evil tyrant and his massive navy singlehandedly. According to Henry, that’s even better than Luke blowing up the Death Star.”

At his blank look, she shrugged “I don’t understand it either, but apparently it’s really good. You really are a hell of a captain,” she teased, trying to make him smile.

Instead, his expression darkened. “Aye, I am. But if anything, that makes it worse.”

“Makes what worse?”

He pulled away from her embrace and stood up, leaning against the window frame, his eyes on the sliver of sea that was just visible on the horizon. “You may not believe this, Swan, but I actually have quite a number of useful skills. I spent six years in Windhaven’s Royal Naval Academy; they trained me well. And I took those gifts and used them for violence and vengeance. What a bloody waste I’ve made of my life.”

“Of course you haven’t…” began Emma, but he stopped her.

“Emma, I appreciate you choosing to see the best in me,” he said, “Truly I do, but there’s a story I want to tell you, one I think you need to hear.”

“What’s it about?”

“It’s the story of how I truly became a pirate, of what set me irrevocably on the path to darkness.”

She looked hesitant. “Are you sure this is necessary, Killian?”

“I am, love. Please. I need— I need to tell you.”

“Okay, I’m listening.”

And Killian began his tale.

**Author's Note:**

> So, here's my altered timeline for Killian's life (and Liam's): 
> 
> Sold by father: Killian age 6, Liam age 12  
> Indenture: Killian age 6-12, Liam age 12-18  
> Naval Academy: Killian age 12-18 (Liam bypasses the academy and joins the navy age 18 as an ensign)  
> Joins the Jewel of the Realm: age 19 (for each of them)  
> Journey to Neverland: Killian age 20, Liam age 26  
> Liam dies age 26, 20 year old Killian goes pirate  
> Pirate Captain Jones: Killian age 20-32  
> With Milah: Killian age 26-32  
> In and out of Neverland ~230 years  
> Cursed 28 years  
> Meets Emma: Killian age 290-ish


End file.
